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The Boat Club 
All Aboard 


Fighting Joe 


Little by Little 
Now or Never 
Poor and Proud 
Try Again 


Haste and Waste 
Hope and Have 


In School and Out 
Rich and Humble 
Work and Win 


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“1 want to leave you my card. 


There it is ! ” 


RICH AND HUMBLE 

A STORY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


BY 

L <& » W 1 i 4-1 Ct, Jfy 1 '/■ t 9 

OLIVER OPTIC 

AUTHOR OP 

“THE BOAT CLUB,” “ALL ABOARD,” “poor AND PROUD,” 

“try again,” “now or never,” etc. 



NEW YORK 

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY 
1911 


BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY 


William Taylor Adams, American author, better 
known and loved by boys and girls through his pseu- 
donym “Oliver Optic, ” was born July 30, 1822, in the 
town of Medway, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, 
about twenty-five miles from Boston. For twenty 
years he was a teacher in the Public Schools of Boston, 
where he came in close contact with boy life. These 
twenty years taught him how to reach the boy’s heart 
and interest as the popularity of his books attest. 

His story writing began in 1850 when he was twenty- 
eight years old and his first book was published in 1853. 
He also edited “The Oliver Optic Magazine,” “The 
Student and Schoolmate,” “Our Little Ones.” 

Mr. Adams died at the age of seventy-five years, in 
Boston, March 27, 1897. 

He was a prolific writer and his stories are most at- 
tractive and unobjectionable. Most of his books were 
published in series. Probably the most famous of these 
is “The Boat Club Series” which comprises the follow- 
ing titles: 

“The Boat Club,” “All Aboard,” “Now or Never,” 
“Try Again,” “Poor and Proud,” “Little by Little.” 
All of these titles will be found in this edition. 

Other well-known series are his “Soldier Boy Series,” 
“Sailor Boy Series,” “Woodville Stories.” The 
“Woodville Stories” will also be found in this edition. 


RICH AND HUMBLE 


CHAPTER I 

A MISSIONARY TO THE HEATHEN 

“ Please give me ten dollars, father? ” said Bertha 
Grant. 

“ Ten dollars ! ” exclaimed Mr. Grant, with a smile which 
looked very encouraging to the applicant. “ What in the 
world do you want ten dollars for ? ” 

“ Oh, I want to use it, father.” 

“ Well, I suppose you do. I have not the slightest doubt 
on that point.” 

“ You are in a hurry now, father, and I will tell you all 
about it another time,” replied Bertha, casting an anxious 
glance at her brother, who appeared to be an interested 
listener. 

“ Well, child, there is ten dollars,” added Mr. Grant, as 
he handed her two half eagles. 

“ Now, dad, do only half as much as that for me, and 
I will be satisfied,” said Richard Grant, the only brother 
of Bertha. 

“ Not a dollar, Richard. Where did you study polite- 
ness, my son? Dad! Do you think that is a proper term 
to apply to your father?” 

“ I meant papa,” whined the boy, in affected tones of 
humility. 

“ If you ever call me 4 dad * again, I will send you off 
to a boarding school to mend your manners. You ought 
to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“ I am, papa, and I promise you I never, will call you 
so again, though that is what all the fellows call their gov- 
ernors.” 


6 


Rich and Humble 


44 Enough of this. I do not wish to hear any slang talk 
in my house. Don’t call me 4 dad,’ or 4 governor,’ either; 
before my face or behind my back.” 

44 I will not, papa.” 

“ Nor papa, either. You need not be a little rowdy, nor 
a great calf.” 

44 I will not, father. Now give me five dollars,” whined 
the youth, as he extended his hand to receive the gift. 

“ Not a dollar, Richard ! ” replied Mr. Grant, sternly. 
44 Money does you no good.” 

44 1 don’t think that is fair, father,” protested Richard. 
44 When Bertha asks you for ten dollars, you give it to 
her. When I ask you for only five, you will not give it to 
me. If she had asked for twenty or fifty, you would have 
let her have it.” 

44 Very likely I should,” replied the father, so coolly that 
it was clear the argument of his son had not moved him. 

44 1 think you are partial.” 

44 You can think what you please, Richard.” 

44 Why won’t you give me money when I ask for it, as 
well as Bertha? I am older than she is, and I don’t see 
why I should be treated like a baby.” 

44 Because you act like one. When you behave like a 
man, you shall be treated like one.” 

44 What have I done, father? ” 

44 You have not done anything that is noble, generous 
or manly. You w r ant five dollars to enable you to visit 
some bowling alley, billiard saloon or horse race.” 

44 1 don’t want it for any such use.” 

44 What do you want it for? ” 

44 You did not ask Bertha what she wanted her money 
for ; at least you did not make her tell you.” 

44 1 know 7 very well she will apply it to a good use.” 

44 Humph ! ” growled Richard. 44 She has gathered a 
crowd of beggars and paupers in the Glen, and she will 
waste the whole ten dollars upon them. I don’t think it 
is very proper for her to associate with those dirty 
ages from the Hollow 7 .” 


sav- 


Rich and Humble 


7 

“ It is more proper than to associate with the better- 
dressed savages from the other side of the river.” 

“ Now won’t you please let me have the five dollars, 
father? ” pleaded Richard, who had a point to gain, and 
therefore was not disposed to carry his argument any 
further. 

“ I will not, Richard. I gave you five dollars the other 
day, and the next morning I heard that you had been seen 
with most disgraceful companions in a bowling saloon. 
Richard, if you have any respect for yourself, or regard 
for me and your sisters, do not associate with low and vile 
company.” 

As Mr. Grant uttered this earnest warning, he put on 
his hat and left the room. When he had gone, and the 
wayward son realized that his father fully understood his 
position, he threw himself upon the sofa with an exclama- 
tion of anger and resentment. It was evident that the 
warning he had received produced no effect upon him, and 
that he was only smarting under the pain of disappoint- 
ment. 

His father had so often given him money when he asked 
for it that he did not expect to be refused in the present 
instance, especially when he saw his sister so liberally sup- 
plied. He remained for a few moments upon the sofa, vent- 
ing his anger and disappointment by kicking and crying, 
as a very small child does when deprived of some coveted 
plaything. 

“ That’s too confounded bad ! ” exclaimed he, at last, 
rising from the sofa and walking toward Bertha, who had 
been a sad and silent spectator of the scene which had just 
transpired. “ All my fun for the day is spoiled. Berty, 
won’t you help me out of this scrape? ” 

“ What scrape, Dick ? ” 

“ I want five dollars very badly. I must have it, too. 
I can’t get along without it. I shall be a byword among 
all the fellows if I don’t have it,” added Richard, with a 
great deal of earnestness. “ Lend me five dollars of the 


8 Rich and Humble 

money father gave } r ou, and I will pay you in a few days, 
when the governor is better natured.” 

“ The governor ? ” suggested Bertha, with a reproving 
smile. 

“ Father, I mean, of course. What is the use of being 
so nice about little things. I never saw the old man in 
such a ferment before in my life.” 

“ The old man? ” 

“ There it is again ! ” 

“ I don’t like to hear such names applied to father. It 
really hurts my feelings, and I hope you will not do so.” 

“ Pooh ! All the fellows call their fathers by these names. 
It sounds babyish to say ‘ my father ’ ; and I don’t like to 
be different from the rest of the fellows.” 

“ I hope you will not be like the young men on the other 
side of the river with whom you associate.” 

“Nonsense! They are real good fellows. They don’t 
go to the prayer meetings, it is true, but, for all that, they 
are better than hundreds that do go.” 

“ I think they are bad boys, and I hope you won’t go 
with them any more.” 

“ Then it was you that told father I went with them,” 
said Richard, suddenly stopping in his walk across the 
room, and looking his sister full in the face.. 

“ I did tell him, Richard ; but you know I did so for your 
good.” 

“ Pooh ! For my good ! Do you think I cannot take 
care of myself? ” 

“ I hope you can.” 

“ I didn’t think you were a little telltale, Berty,” sneered 
Richard. 

“ I have spoken to you about going with those bad boys, 
and begged you to keep away from them. If you knew 
how bad I feel when I see my brother in such company, you 
would not complain of me for telling father.” 

“ I won’t complain, Berty,” replied Richard, suddenly 
changing his tone. “ You are a real good girl, and you 
intended to do me a heap of good when you told father. 


Rich and Humble 


9 

You are the best sister in the world. Now lend me the five 
dollars, Berty, and I never will find fault with you for any- 
thing you may do.” 

“ I cannot, Richard.” 

“ You cannot? Yes, you can. Haven’t you got two half 
eagles in your hand ? ” 

“ I have, but I got them for a particular use.” 

“ But I will pay you again.” 

“ I suppose you will, if you can.” 

“ If I can ! Do you think dad — father, I mean — will 
always be as savage as he was this morning? ” 

“ I am afraid you don’t understand him, Richard. He 
thinks that giving you money does you injury.” 

“ Don’t preach any more, Berty. Will you lend me the 
five dollars ? ” 

“ I cannot. It would not be right for me to do so, even 
if I could spare the money.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Father refused to give it to you because he thought 
it would be an injury to you, and it would certainly be 
wrong for me to thwart his purpose.” 

“ Then you won’t let me have it? ” demanded Richard, 
struggling to keep down his resentment. 

“ What are you going to do with it? ” 

“ What odds does it make what I want it for ? ” 

“ If you want it for any good purpose I might let you 
have it,” answered Bertha, who was wavering between a 
desire to oblige her brother and the fear of doing wrong. 

“ I want it to put in the contribution box for the Hot- 
tentots in the Sandwich Islands, of course,” replied Rich- 
ard, with a sneer. 

“ Tell me what you want it for Dick.” 

“ Well, I scorn to lie about it. I offered to bet five dol- 
lars with Tom Mullen that our sailboat would beat his, 
and he has taken me up. The race is to come off to-day, 
and if I don’t get the money I shall have to back down.” 

“I hope you will, Dick,” said Bertha, sorrowfully. 


io Rich and Humble 

“ What would father say if he knew you were betting on 
boats ? ” 

“ If he had any spunk at all he would hand out the 
money, and tell me to go it.” . 

“ You know very well he would disapprove of it. I 
think it is very wicked to gamble and bet.” 

“ No preaching. Are you willing to have me tabooed 
as a sneak; to have me a byword and the laughingstock 
of the fellows ? ” 

“ I would rather have such fellows hate you than like 
you, Richard,” answered Bertha, sadly. “ I did not think 
you had gone so far as to gamble.” 

“ Pshaw ! There is no gambling about it. I am not 
going to be branded as a sneak. If you won’t lend me the 
money, I must get it somewhere else.” 

“ I cannot lend it to you, Richard, for such a purpose. 
You will be a disgrace to your family if you go on in this 
way.” 

“ I should like to know what you are doing ! Don’t you 
spend half your time with those dirty savages from the 
Hollow? Do you think it is right for the daughter of 
Franklin Grant to associate with those dirty, filthy, half- 
civilized ragamuffins? ” 

“ It will not injure either them or me.” 

“ I am ashamed of you. If it does not hurt your feelings 
it does mine, to hear that you spend your time with these 
dregs of society. The fellows on the other side are all 
laughing at you.” 

“ Let them laugh. While I do my duty, I need not fear 
them.” 

“ Come, Berty, we won’t quarrel. Let me have one of 
those half eagles, and I will let you go with the savages 
as much as you please.” 

“ No, Richard,” replied Bertha, shaking her head, with 
a smile which showed that there was no anger or resentment 
in her heart.” 

“ Do, Berty ! ” 

“ I cannot ; my conscience will not let me do so.” 


Rich and Humble 


1 1 

“ Confound your conscience ! ” exclaimed Richard, rush- 
ing out of the room in a paroxysm of anger. 

Bertha was sorely tried by the conduct of her brother. 
She had observed, with anxiety and pain, the dissolute 
course of Richard. She had reasoned and pleaded with 
him to abandon his wayward companions, but no good 
result had attended her efforts to reform him. 

Mr. Grant was a broker in the city of New York. He 
had the reputation of being a very wealthy man. He lived 
upon a magnificent estate on the Hudson, about twenty- 
five miles from the city. His wife had been dead several 
years, and his three children were under the guidance of 
a housekeeper, who, though an excellent woman, did not 
possess a mother’s influence, nor did she exercise a mother’s 
authority over her young charge. 

Woodville, the residence of the broker, was a beautiful 
place. The mansion and its appointments were all that 
wealth and taste could make them. Servants, without num- 
ber, came and went at the bidding of the children. Tutors 
and governesses had been employed to superintend the edu- 
cation of the young people. Boats on the river, carriages 
on the land, were ever ready to minister to their inclina- 
tions. There was no end to the dogs, ponies, rabbits, mon- 
keys, squirrels, deer and other pets which were supplied to 
beguile their leisure hours. 

Mr. Grant believed himself to be a rich man, and none 
of his friends or neighbors had any reason to suspect he 
was not a rich man. He lived like a nabob ; but more than 
this, he was a generous and kind-hearted man, and those 
who knew him best respected him most, while his wealth 
purchased for him the worldly esteem of all within the cir- 
cle of his influence. 

As my young readers have already discovered, he was 
an indulgent parent. Since the death of Mrs. Grant, his 
children had been his sole domestic happiness. He was 
wholly devoted to them; but his immense business trans- 
actions obliged him to be absent from an early hour in 
the morning till a late hour in the evening, and they were 


12 


Rich and Humble 


thus left, for the greater portion of the time, to the care 
of the housekeeper and their instructors. 

Our story opens in the month of July, and it was vaca- 
tion with the young people. The tutor and the governess 
had two months’ leave of absence. Richard, Bertha and 
Fanny were free from the restraints of study. They had 
nothing to do but enjoy themselves. How Richard, who 
was fifteen years old, spent his time has already been shown. 

Bertha, while wandering alone one May day in the Glen, 
a secluded valley on the bank of the river, half a mile from 
Woodville, had met a party of poor children from Dunk’s 
Hollow, which is a little village a mile or more from the 
mansion house. There were seven of them, and they were 
children of the poorest people in the neighborhood. They 
were dirty, ragged, barefoot, and their condition excited 
the pity of the child of plenty. 

She gave them the cake and confectionery she had 
brought to grace her lonely May-day festival in the Glen, 
told them stories, and made herself as agreeable as though 
she had been an angel sent to mitigate the woes of poverty 
and want. The event opened a new vista to Bertha, and 
she at once began to devise means to instruct these children 
of want and improve their worldly condition. Without 
going to a far-off land, she became a missionary to the 
heathen, the friend and companion of the needy and neg- 
lected. Despising the taunts of her brother and sister, 
she spent most of her leisure hours with her ragged dis- 
ciples in the Glen. 

CHAPTER II 

BERTHA FINDS HERSELF SHORT OF FUNDS 

Woodville was situated on the right bank of the Hud- 
son. About one mile above was the village of Dunk’s 
Hollow, as it was called. It was only a small collection o:f 
houses, occupied by boatment, fishermen and laborers — 
American, Irish and Dutch, all blended together in the 
most inharmonious manner. 


Rich and Humble 


J 3 

Dunk’s Hollow had a very bad name in the neighbor- 
hood, and man, woman or child who came from there was 
deemed a reproach to the race. There was only one shop 
at the Hollow, and that was the principal source of all its 
misery, for its chief trade was in liquor, pipes and tobacco. 
The oldest inhabitant could not remember the week in which 
there had not been at least one fight there, and the number 
was often half a dozen. The men did small j obs, and spent 
most of their earnings at the tap-room of Yon Brunt, while 
the women maintained an almost ineffectual struggle to 
obtain food enough to keep themselves and their children 
alive. This was Dunk’s Hollow, to whose poor and neg- 
lected little ones Bertha Grant had become a ministering 
angel. 

On the opposite side of the river was the thriving vil- 
lage of Whitestone, in surprising contrast with the place 
just described. It contained four or five thousand inhabi- 
tants, with all the appointments of modern civilization, in- 
cluding a race course, half a dozen billiard saloons, where 
betting and liquor drinking were the principal recreations, 
and as many bowling alleys and fashionable oyster shops. 
All these traps to catch young men were frequented by the 
elite of the village, as well as by the sons of rich men, whose 
estates adorned the hills and valleys of the surrounding 
country. Here Richard Grant had taken his first lesson 
in dissipation. 

About halfway between Woodville and the Hollow was 
the Glen. It was a beautifully shaded valley, on the bank 
of the river, through which a crystal brook from the hills 
above bubbled its way over the shining rocks to the great 
river. It was a fit abode for the fairy queens, and Bertha 
was a constant visitor at the spot, even before she made 
the acquaintance of the savages from Dunk’s Hollow, as 
Richard persisted in calling them. 

The Glen was situated in a curve of the river, which 
swept in from Woodville to the Hollow. Off the Cove, as 
it had been named, was a small island, containing not more 


Rich and Humble 


14 

than a quarter of an acre of land, called Van Alstine’s. 
It was covered with rocks and trees, and was a frequent 
resort of boating parties, especially those from Woodville. 
This island, as well as the Glen, was owned by Mr. Grant, 
and he had taken some pains to clear up the underbrush 
and furnish it with seats and arbors. 

Merry voices were heard in the Glen, even while the 
tones of anger and reproach were ringing in the lofty 
rooms of the mansion at Woodville. The savages from 
the Hollow were already gathered there, and the repeated 
glances which they cast down the river indicated the ear- 
nestness with which they expected the coming of their 
apostle of mercy. But Bertha was not ready to join them 
yet. The attitude of her brother was far from promising, 
and with a sad heart she realized that the heathen had 
invaded her own house. 

After Richard rushed out of the house, angry and dis- 
appointed, her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to think 
of some method by which she could save him from the error 
of his ways. She knew that Tom Mullen and the other 
young men with whom her brother had lately begun to as- 
sociate were the vilest of the vile. Tom had been seen in- 
toxicated in the streets of the village, and it was well known 
that he and his companions were gamblers, if not thieves. 

What could she do to save him ? Alas ! there was noth- 
ing that she, a child, could do; but she resolved never ta 
cease pleading with him to reform. She wept and she 
prayed for him. She had faith to believe that He who lets 
not a sparrow fall unseen could save her brother from ruin 
and death, and with Him she pleaded that Richard might 
be redeemed. 

Bertha’s heart was full of love and gentleness ; and while 
she wept over her brother, she rejoiced in the little flock 
to whom she had been the messenger of so many blessings. 
She had taught them to read, and imparted to them that 
wisdom which is higher and purer than any which flows 
from earthly fountains. As she thought of them, she 
glanced at the two gold pieces in her hand, and a smile 


Rich and Humble 


15 

lighted up her sweet face, when she imagined the pleasure 
they would purchase for the lambs of her fold. 

Taking her hat and shawl, she left the house and walked 
down to the boathouse. It was located on the bank of the 
river, by the side of a small wharf extending out into the 
deep water. 

“ Waiting for you, Miss Bertha,” said the old boatman, 
who had been told to row her over the river. 

“ I am all ready, Ben,” replied Bertha, as she took her 
scat in the boat. 

“What ails Mr. Richard this morning?” continued 
Ben, as he glanced at the sailboat, which was moored in 
the river a short distance from the shore, and in which 
Richard was seated, looking very gloomy and dejected, 
“ He is uncommon cross this morning.” 

“ Something happened at the house which did not please 
him.” 

“ I thought so. He wanted to borrow five dollars of 
me ; but I could not lend it to him, for I did not happen 
to have it about me. I am sorry Mr. Richard feels so bad.” 

“ I hope he will feel better,” replied Bertha. 

“ He tried to borrow the money of the cook, and of 
the hostler, but none of them had so much about them. 
Wouldn’t his father let him have the money? ” 

“ He would not. But I am all ready, Ben,” said Bertha, 
who was very willing to change the subject. 

“ Where are you going, Bertha? ” called Richard from 
the boat. 

“ Over to Whitestone.” 

“ Wait a moment, and I will go with you,” replied Rich- 
ard, as he pulled ashore in his skiff. “ What ai'e you going 
to do over at Whitestone? ” he asked, as he stepped into 
the boat. 

“ I am going over to buy some things.” 

“ For the savages, I suppose,” sneered Richard. 

“ Yes,” answered Bertha, unmoved by the sneer. “ If 
you knew how much pleasure my work affords me, you 
would w'ant to join me.” 


Rich and Humble 


16 

“ I think not ; I would not disgrace my family by mixing 
with the slime and filth of the Hollow. Your ragged dis- 
ciples stole- half the strawberries in the garden last night.” 

“ Not my children, I know.” 

“ I will bet, five dollars they were the same ones to whom 
you taught the Ten Commandments and ‘ Now I lay me,’ ” 
laughed Richard. 

“ I am sure it was none of mine. We are read} T , Ben. 
You can push off. I feel like rowing a little this morning, 
and I will take one oar, if you please.” 

Bertha placed her reticule and shawl on the seat in the 
stern, and seated herself at one of the oars. Ben pulled 
a gentle stroke to accommodate that of Bertha, and the 
boat moved forward toward Whitestone. Richard kept 
bantering his sister all the way about the savages of the 
Hollow, and seemed to have entirely recovered from his 
disappointment and anger. In about half an hour they 
reached Whitestone. Bertha put on her shawl, and, tak- 
ing her reticule in her hand, walked up to the principal 
street of the village, while Richard departed in another 
direction. 

Bertha stopped at a dry goods store, where she bought 
two pieces of cheap calico, some jean and a number of other 
articles, amounting to ten dollars and fifty cents. 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed she, as she put her hand into her 
reticule ; “ I have lost all my money ! ” 

“Lost your money? ” said the salesman. 

“ I had two half eagles in my reticule, and both of them 
are gone,” added she, looking upon the floor and searching 
the bag again. “ I have not opened the reticule since I 
started from home, and I am sure they could not have 
fallen out.” 

“ Didn’t you put them in your pocket ? ” 

“ No ; I am sure I put them in my bag. But it cannot 
be helped. Of course I cannot take these things now.” 

“ Oh, yes, you can. You are Mr. Grant’s daughter, and 
I shall be glad to give you credit for any amount you may 
desire.” 


Rich and Humble 


J 7 

44 Thank you, sir. Then I will take the things and pay 
you for them the next time I come to Whitestone.” 

44 Any time, Miss Grant. I will send them down to your 
boat.” 

But Ben had followed her up from the wharf, and car- 
ried the goods down for her. On their way to the river 
she told him that she had lost her money. 

44 Did you lose it in the boat ? ” 

44 I don’t know where I lost it. I am sure I put it into 
my bag, which has not been opened since I left the house.” 

44 1 saw you put the reticule on the seat in the stern. 
Mr. Richard sat there all the way coming over.” 

Bertha blushed at these words, and looked earnestly at 
the boatman to discover what he meant by them ; but Ben 
looked perfectly blank. 

44 Perhaps I dropped them out before I fastened the reti- 
cule,” added Bertha. 

44 Perhaps you did, Miss Bertha ; but ” 

Ben stopped after the 44 but,” and looked upon the 
ground, as though he had made a mistake. Bertha’s face 
was crimsoned w T ith shame, as she thought what that ter- 
rible 44 but ” might mean. Richard had sat upon the bag 
containing the money during the passage across the river. 
Ben had taken pains to state this fact in so many words. 
What could he mean by it ? 

When they reached the wharf they found Richard in 
the boat, ready to return with them. 

44 Come, Berty ; I have been waiting this half hour for 
you,” said he ; 44 1 am in a hurry.” 

44 Going to have the race to-day, Mr. Richard? ” asked 
Ben, as he placed the bundle of goods in the bow of the 
boat. 

44 Yes, certainly. I told you yesterday it would come 
off to-day at eleven o’clock,” answered Richard. 

44 You told me there w r as some little difficulty about the 
matter this morning,” added Ben, with a smile, which was 
intended to remove any appearance of impudence which the 
words might otherwise convey. 


Rich and Humble 


“ I have got over that difficulty, and am all ready for' 
the race. We shall have a good wind to-day, and I am 
just as certain that I shall win the race as I am that I sit 
here. Bear a hand, Ben ; I am in a hurry.” 

“ Then you raised the money, Mr. Richard? ” said Ben, 
carelessly, as he adjusted his oars. 

“ To be stire I did. I told you there were a dozen per- 
sons who would be glad to lend it to me. Bob Bleeker lent 
me ten dollars, though I did not ask him for but five.” 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Ben, suddenly rising up and slap- 
ping his hands upon his trousers pockets ; “ I have for- 
gotten my tobacco, and I shall die a thousand deaths with- 
out it. Will you excuse me for five minutes, Miss Bertha? ” 

“ Certainly, Ben.” 

“ Hurry up,” added Richard. 

“ I will be back in less than five minutes ; ” and Ben ran 
up the wharf as if the house of his dearest friend had been 
on fire. 

He rushed up one street and then turned into another, 
which brought him to the Empire Saloon, of which Mr. 
Bob Bleeker was the owner and proprietor. Taking a 
two-dollar bill from his wallet, he bolted into the saloon 
and thrust it into the face of the keeper of the establish- 
ment. 

“ What is the matter, Ben? You are all out of wind,” 
said Bob, as he glanced at the two-dollar bill. 

“ Mr. Richard wants you to give him a better bill for 
this one,” replied Ben, puffing like a porpoise from the 
effects of his hard run. 

“ A better bill ? What does he mean by that ? ” 

<£ You know all about it. Didn’t you just give him this 
bill? ” 

“ No, sir! I did not,” replied Bob, quick to resent any 
trick, or any imputation of unfairness. “ I did not give 
him that bill, or any other.” 

“ Did you lend him ten dollars just now? ” 

“ No, sir! I did not! ” answered Bob, with emphasis. 


Rich and Humble 


19 

“ Then I have made a bad blunder, and I beg your 
pardon.” 

“ All right, Ben.” 

“ Give me half a pound of that best Cavendish, and I 
will call it square.” 

Ben having obtained his tobacco, which he had really 
forgotten, hastened back to the boat. Taking his place 
at the oars, he pulled his steady, even stroke, which in a 
short time brought them within hail of the Woodville wharf, 
where the boatman, without any apparent reason, suddenly 
suspended his labor, and the boat soon came to a dead halt. 

“What are you stopping for, Ben?” demanded Rich- 
ard. “ You may put me on board of the Greyhound , if 
you please.” 

“ Not yet, Mr. Richard. When I get into a fog, I al- 
ways stand by, and wait till I can see my way out of it.” 

“ What do you mean by that, Ben ? ” 

“ Hold on a minute, Mr. Richard, and I will make the 
daylight shine through what I have said in a very short 
time.” 

“ Bear a hand, then, Ben, for you know I am in a hurry.” 

“ So am I,” added Bertha. 

“ Miss Bertha lost ten dollars in this boat, which goes 
right against my conscience.” * 

“ Perhaps I lost it in the house,” suggested Bertha. 

“ Perhaps you did, but ” And Ben made a long 

pause before he added : “ I don’t believe you did.” 

“Well, what has all this to do with me, Ben?” asked 
Richard, his face as red as Bertha’s had been. 

“ Not much, perhaps, but I don’t want Miss Bertha to 
think now, or at any future time, that I took the money.” 

“ Of course I don’t think any such thing, Ben,” added 
Bertha, reproachfully. 

“ But you may think so at some future time, if the mat- 
ter isn’t cleared up now.” 

“I certainly shall not, Ben,” interposed Bertha. “Please 
don’t keep me here, when all my children are waiting foe 
me in the Glen.” 


20 Rich and Humble 

“ Only a minute, Miss Bertha. I did not take your 
money; but ” 

“Another 4 but,’ Ben,” said Richard. 44 If you have 
got anything to say, why don’t you say it? ” 

44 1 will say it,” replied Ben, as he proceeded, in the most 
mysterious manner, to turn all his pockets inside out, to 
open his wallet, and shake out his handkerchief. 44 The 
half eagles are not in my pockets, you see.” 

44 Ben, you are a fool ! ” exclaimed Richard. 

The boatman seated himself again, and gazed in silence 
upon the bottom of the boat. 

CHAPTER III 

BERTHA MAKES A VISIT TO THE GEEN 

“You don’t understand me, Air. Richard,” said Ben, 
after he had mused for a time. 

44 I’m sure I do not. You act as though you had lost 
your senses,” replied Richard. 

44 But I have not lost my conscience, Mr. Richard. Per- 
haps you would not object to exhibiting the contents of 
your pockets.” » 

44 Do you mean to insult me, Ben ? ” exclaimed Richard, 
reddening with indignation. 

44 No, sir, certainly not ; but you will do me a great favor 
by turning your pockets out — just to oblige an old servant 
of the family.” 

44 Enough of this, Ben. Use your oars again.” 

44 Excuse me, Mr. Richard, but I am in earnest. That 
money was lost in this boat. I am a poor man, and it 
must be found before any suspicion rests upon me.” 

44 Ben, do you mean to say I took the money from my 
sister? ” 

44 That is precisely what I mean, Mr. Richard, only I 
couldn’t say it out in so many words, because you are the 
only son of Mr. Franklin Grant, the rich broker of New 
York. I thank you for helping me out with the idea.” 


Rich and Humble 


21 


“ Oh, no, Ben! You must be mistaken. Richard would 
not do so mean a thing.” 

“ I beg jour pardon, Miss Bertha, but your brother 
did do this mean thing and if he is mean enough to steal 
ten dollars, which was to be given in charity, he is mean 
enough to lay it to the old boatman ; and I will not risk 
myself on shore till the matter is cleared up.” 

“ Ben, do you know who and what you are? ” said Rich- 
ard, sternly. 

“ I know all about it, Mr. Richard. I am your father’s 
servant — your servant, if you please; but if I lose my 
place, and am sent to jail for what I do, I will have this 
matter set right before I go ashore.” 

“ It is all right now, Ben. Put me on board of the Grey- 
hound, and I will say nothing more about it.” 

“ I will not. You stole the money from your sister, and 
you shall return it to her before you get out of this boat.” 

“ Let him go, Ben,” remonstrated Bertha, who began 
to be alarmed by the stern manner of the old boatman. 

“ I would do anything in the world for you, Miss Bertha, 
but I must have justice done in this matter.” 

“ Nonsense, Ben. I haven’t got the money,” said Rich- 
ard, who was also a little alarmed at the determined man- 
ner of the boatman. 

“You have got it, Mr. Richard, and you must give 
it up.” 

“ I say I have not got it. Doesn’t that satisfy you? ” 

“ It does not. If you haven’t got it, you will not object 
to turning out your pockets.” 

“ I have got ten dollars, of course. I told you I had.” 

“Where did you get it?” 

“ Didn’t I tell you that I borrowed it of Bob Bleeker ? ” 

“ You didn’t borrow a dollar of Bob Bleeker,” answered 
Ben, placing himself by the side of the youth. 

“ Dare you tell me that I lie? ” 

“ I dare tell you anything that is true. Will you show 
me the contents of your pockets or not ? ” 

“ I will not,” replied Richard, stoutly. 


22 


Rich and Humble 

The boatman made no reply, but, taking Richard by the 
collar, he jerked him into the middle of the boat, and, in 
spite of his kicks and struggles, thrust his hand into the 
boy’s coat pocket, and took therefrom his portemonnaie. 
He then released him, and opened the wallet. 

It contained two half eagles ! 

“ Here is the money you lost, Miss Bertha.” 

“ Why, Richard Grant ! ” exclaimed Bertha, “ how could 
you do such a thing ? ” 

“ That is not your money, Berty. I borrowed it of Bob 
Bleeker,” stammered Richard, whose face was now as pale 
as a sheet. 

“ Mr. Richard, would you be willing to go over with 
me and ask Bob Bleeker if he lent you ten dollars ? ” 

“ Of course I would if I had the time.” 

“ Sit down, Mr. Richard, and I will tell you a story,” 
and Ben proceeded to relate what had occurred in the 
saloon of Bob Bleeker. “ Are you satisfied, Miss Bertha? ” 

“ I am. Oh, Richard, how could you do such a thing! ” 

“ I didn’t do it.” 

“ Let me see the half eagles, Ben. I remember the date 
of one of them, and I looked at them so much that I think 
I should know them again.” 

Ben handed her the gold pieces, and she was forced to 
acknowledge that they were the coins she had lost. The 
one whose date she remembered had a spot upon it, which 
enabled her to identify it. 

“ Oh, Richard ! ” said she, bursting into tears. “ I did 
not think you had sunk so low! What will become of 
you?” 

“ I suppose I must run away and go to sea, or do some- 
thing of that kind. My reputation is spoiled here.” 

“ Oh, no, Richard ! Promise to be a better boy, and 
Ben and I will not say a word about this.” 

“ Ben has insulted and outraged me.” 

“ Sorry for it, Mr. Richard, but I couldn’t help it. The 
matter is cleared up now, and I haven’t anything more to 
say.” 


Rich and Humble 


2 3 

“ You will not mention this, Ben — will you?” pleaded 
Bertha. “ Dick is sorry for it, and he will always be a 
good boy.” 

“ I never talk about family matters, Miss Bertha. 
Whatever happens, I shall never say a word about this 
affair,” replied Ben, as, with a few vigorous strokes of his 
oars, he placed the boat alongside the Greyhound. 

Richard, stupefied at the suddenness with which his 
guilt had found him out, stepped mechanically from one 
boat into the other, hardly knowing what he was doing. 
Not only had he been convicted of the base act of stealing 
from his sister, but he was deprived of the means of attend- 
ing the race. He felt as if some terrible disaster was im- 
pending, and threw himself into the stern sheets of his 
boat and covered his face with his hands. 

“ Now, Miss Bertha, I will row you up to the Gleri in 
double-quick time.” 

“ I don’t like to leave Richard now. He must feel 
dreadfully.” 

“ I hope he does. It will do him good to spend a few 
hours upon the stool of repentance. Leave him to himself 
for a while, Miss Bertha.” 

“ But perhaps he will do some desperate thing, Ben. 
He may run away, as he threatened.” 

“No he won’t. He hasn’t the courage to run away. 
He knows what going to sea means, and a young gentle- 
man like him won’t do any such thing,” said Ben, as he 
bent upon his oars, and the boat glided away in the direc- 
tion of the Glen. 

In a few moments Ben landed his fair young charge in 
the midst of her anxious disciples. 

“ Now, if you like, Miss Bertha, I will pull back and 
keep an eye on Mr. Richard.” 

“ Do, Ben.” 

“ Shall he stdy about home to-day? ” asked Ben, with a 
quiet smile on his bronzed features. 

“ You cannot keep him at home if he chooses to go 
away.” 


24 Rich and Humble 

“ Oh, yes, I can, Miss Bertha,” answered the boatman, 
confidently. “ If you only say the word, Miss Bertha, he 
shall stay at home and he will mind me just like a whipped 
kitten.” 

“ Don’t be too hard with him, Ben.” 

“ Oh, bless you, no ! I will handle him as gently as I 
would a basket of eggs ; but he- shall mind me, if you say 
the word. It is none of my business, but I don’t like to see 
a fine boy, like Master Richard, going to ruin and destruc- 
tion for the want of a steady hand at the helm.” 

“Bo as you think best, Ben, but don’t let any harm 
come to him.” 

“ I won’t, Miss Bertha,” replied the boatman, as he 
shoved off and pulled toward Woodville. 

Ben had once been a boatswain in the navy, and was ac- 
customed to rigid discipline. He understood Richard’s 
case exactly, and he had often regretted that he was not 
authorized to train him up in the way he should go. The 
father was ignorant of his dissolute life, and the boatman 
entertained some doubts whether Mr. Grant had the nerve 
to discipline him as the case demanded. Bertha was a power 
and an influence at Woodville, and Ben knew that whatever 
she counseled would be ratified at headquarters. 

Richard was still lying on the cushions of the Greyhound 
when Ben returned from the Glen. Without seeming to 
notice the young reprobate, the boatman kept one eye upon 
him, while his hands were busied in carving a snake’s head 
upon the end of a new tiller for the four-oar boat. There 
we will leave them, the watcher and the watched, and return 
to the Glen. 

“ We thought you never would come,” said one of the 
little savages, as Bertha walked up to the Retreat with 
them. 

The Retreat was an arbor, which was completely cov- 
ered with vines, and in which seats had been built by the 
ingenuity of Ben, the boatman, who was almost as much 
interested in Bertha’s mission as she was herself. 

“ Now, take your seats, children. I hope you have all 


Rich and Humble 


2 5 

got your lessons well, for we have a great deal to do 

to-day.” 

In a moment each of the little savages took a seat, and 
produced the book which Bertha had furnished. They 
read, spelled and recited arithmetic to the entire satisfac- 
tion of the teacher. New lessons were assigned for the 
next day, and then Bertha proceeded to open the bundles 
of dry goods. 

“ Here is a calico dress for each of the girls, and here 
is some jean to make jackets and trousers for the boys. 
We must be as busy as bees, and have them all made up 
this week.” 

The eyes of the little boys and girls sparkled with de- 
light at this display of treasures. A Broadway belle or 
a Chestnut Street dandy could not have been more enrap- 
tured at the latest importation from Paris, than the poor 
children of Dunk’s Hollow were at the sight of the homely 
material of which their new clothes were to be made. 

But the most serious part of the work was yet to be 
done, and consisted in the cutting and fitting of the gar- 
ments. Ever since the brilliant idea of supplying her flock 
with new clothes had entered the fertile brain of Bertha, 
she had studied and practiced the dressmaker’s art, under 
the tuition of Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, who had kindly 
afforded her all the instruction she needed. She had also 
procured patterns for the jackets and trousers, and pa- 
tiently examined some of her brother’s old clothes, for she 
was determined that the outfit of the savages should be 
fashioned entirely by her own hands. 

With a confidence worthy the pioneer mind of a Colum- 
bus, she tore off the breadths* for the dresses, and set the 
girls at work in running them together. Then, with the 
same zeal and self-possession, she proceeded to fit the waist 
of Gretchy von Brunt, who was about as thick as she was 
long, and not exactly a model of female elegance in form. 
It was a trying experiment for a beginner, but for what 
the chief operator lacked in skill and experience, she made 
up in zeal and hope. 


1 


26 


Rich and Humble 


At twelve o’clock Ben came up with a basket of pro- 
visions for the busy troop of workers. He reported that 
Richard was as tame as a lamb, and had gone in to dinner 
when the bell rang. He did not think there was any dan- 
ger of his doing a desperate* deed. But Bertha insisted 
that he should return, and not lose sight of him till his 
father came home from the city. As he had been instructed 
in the morning, Ben brought up Bertha’s boat, in which 
she intended to row back herself, when the labors of the 
day were finished. 

While the girls were busily engaged upon their dresses, 
and the boys were bringing stones to make a walk from the 
landing place to the Retreat, a slight rustling was heard, 
in the bushes, near the spot where the dinner things had 
been left. 

“ Hoo ! Hoo ! Hoo ! ” were the cries which immediately 
issued from the bushes. 

It sounded like the scream of some wild bird ; but neither 
Bertha nor her flock were frighetned by the noise, though 
all of them left their work, and hastened to the spot from 
which it proceeded. 

“ It’s Noddy Newman,” said Griffy von Grunt, the larg- 
gest of the three boys composing the mission school — a 
stout, fat little Dutchman of ten years of age. 

“ He has stolen what was left of the dinner,” added 
Bridget McGee. 

“ And he will steal Miss Bertha’s boat,” said Billy Ball, 
as he and Griffy hastened down to the landing place, in- 
tending by a flank movement to protect the property of 
the mistress. 

“ He may have the dinner, if he will not carry off the 
basket and the plates,” added Bertha. “ Noddy! Noddy! 
Come here a moment ; I want to see you,” called she, as loud 
as she could. 

“ No, you don’t,” replied the wild boy who had caused 
this sudden commotion. “ None of your spelling books 
for me. I like your dinner, but I don’t want any of your 
learning.” 


Rich and Humble 


'* 27 

Noddy Newman was now in view of the party. He was 
even more ragged and dirty than the raggedest and dirtiest 
of the Dunk’s Hollowites. He wore nothing but a shirt 
and trousers with one suspender, and a straw hat, of 
which less than one-fourth of the original brim remained. 
Though he was said to be thirteen years old, he was smaller 
in stature than Griffy von Grunt ; but he was as agile and 
quick as a monkey. 

Noddy had no parents. They had lived at the Hollow 
till filth and dissipation ended their days. Since their 
death Noddy had taken care of himself ; sleeping in barns 
and outbuildings at night, and begging or stealing food 
enough to keep him alive. 

“ Come to me, Noddy,” repeated Bertha. “ I won’t hurt 
you.” 

“ I know you won’t. You can’t ! ” shouted the wild 
boy, as he bounded off, with the speed of an antelope, 
toward the river, ending his flight by running up a large 
tree which overhung the water. 

CHAPTER IV 

BERTHA AND NODDY NEWMAN 

Beneath the tree in which Noddy Newman had taken 
refuge lay moored a nondescript craft, in which the wild 
boy made his aquatic excursions. It had once been a sugar 
box, and by what art or skill the little savage had made 
it watertight it would have puzzled the calkers and gravers 
of the region to determine. It certainly floated, and Noddy 
navigated it about the river with as much pride and satis- 
faction as if it had been the fairy barge of Cleopatra. 
It was fastened by a string to one of the overhanging 
branches of the tree in which its adventurous skipper was 
now lodged. 

It was pretty evident, from the position of his boat, that 
he had not landed in the ordinary way, but had drawn him- 
self up into the tree and come ashore in that manner. To 
Bertha and her young companions it was a daring under- 


28 Rich and Humble 

taking to embark in the sugar box by the way of the tree, 
and she begged him not to attempt it. 

“ Come down, Noddy, and I will put you into your 
boat.” 

“ I ain’t one of your children. I don’t have anything 
to do with your reading and spelling, and you needn’t bor- 
row any trouble about me.” 

“ But some of the branches are rotten, and if you should 
fall upon the rocks below, it would kill you.” 

“ I ain’t going to fall. I know better than that without 
any book l’arnin’.” 

“ Do come down, Noddy. I will give you something if 
you will,” pleaded Bertha, who, besides being alarmed for 
his safety, wished to converse with him, and induce him to 
join the school in the Glen. 

Noddy had thus far resisted all overtures in this direc- 
tion, and had never allowed himself to come near enough 
to Bertha to enable her to exercise any influence upon him. 
He was fond of his freedom, and evidently enjoyed the 
vagabond life he led. The authorities of Whitestone had 
once made an effort to commit him to the almshouse; but 
when an attempt was made to catch him, he disappeared 
for some weeks. 

Bertha had sent him several presents, with messages 
urging him to join her little flock; but he never came to 
the Glen when she was there, unless it was to rob the basket 
of the provisions brought for the scholars. Yet she did 
not abandon all hope of winning him over from the savage 
life he led. 

“Have you had dinner enough, Noddy?” 

“ Yes, I have. I ate all there was in the basket,” replied 
Noddy, chuckling with delight at the thought of his own 
cleverness. 

“Won’t you come down and talk with me? I will give 
you something.” 

“ I don’t want anything.” 

“ Come down and talk with me, then.” 


29 


Rich and Humble 

44 I haven’t got anything to say,” laughed Noddy. 

44 But I want to see you.” 

44 I don’t want to see you. You are the proud girl from 
Woodville, and I don’t want anything of you.” 

44 I am not proud, Noddy.” 

44 Well, you are rich.” 

44 Come down to me, and I will give you a silver ten-cent 
piece.” 

44 Don’t want it ; if I should go to buy anything with it 
they would catch me and put me in the workhouse.” 

44 Don’t you want a knife P I will give you mine, if you 
will go up to the arbor with me.” 

44 1 have got a better knife now than you have. I took 
it from Bob Bleeker’s boat.” 

44 But it was wrong to take it without leave.” 

44 1 don’t know but it was. If it was I can’t help it.” 

As he spoke these words, Noddy began to move down 
to the branch from which he could drop into his boat. As 
he did so, a rotten limb, which he had grasped with his 
hands, suddenly snapped, his feet slipped from the branch, 
and he fell, striking with such force upon the sugar-box 
craft that one of its sides was split off. The unfortunate 
boy rolled from the boat, and went into the deep water. A 
sharp cry issued from his mouth as he struck the board, 
and then he disappeared beneath the surface of the river. 

44 Mercy ! ” screamed Bertha, paralyzed with horror, as 
she witnessed the sad mishap. 

44 Never fear, Miss Bertha ; he can swim like a fish,” said 
Griffy von Grunt. 

44 But the fall may have killed him,” gasped Bertha, as 
she summoned strength enough to run to her boat, which 
was moored a short distance from the spot. 

At the same time, Griffy leaped into the river, and swam 
to the sugar box. In a moment Noddy rose to the surface; 
but he did not attempt to swim, and it was evident that 
the fall had deprived him of the use of his powers. As 
he rose, Griffy seized him by the arm, and held him above 
the water till Bertha came up with the boat. With no 
d3 


Rich and Humble 


' 3 ° 

difficulty they lifted him in ; but the little savage appeared 
to be dead. On his temple there was a deep cut, which had 
probably been caused by the nails driven into the side of 
the box to answer for thole pins. 

“What shall we do?” stammered Bertha, terribly 
frightened by the pale face and motionless form of the 
poor boy. “ I will take him down to the house. Griffy, 
you may go with me, and the rest of you may go home.” 

The children were appalled by the fearful accident, and 
could not say a word. Only Griffy seemed to have his 
wits about him, and while Bertha attempted to bind up the 
bleeding head of Noddy, he rowed with all his might toward 
the pier at Woodville. Ben was in the boathouse when they 
arrived, and, taking the insensible boy in his arms, carried 
him up to the house and laid him upon the bed in Bertha’s 
chamber. 

“ Now, Ben, go over to Whitestone as fast as you can 
and bring the doctor.” 

“ Yes, Miss Bertha ; but I don’t think the boy is very 
badly hurt. That knock on the head has taken away his 
senses ; but he will be all right in a few hours. You can’t 
kill a boy like that so easily.” 

“ Go quick, Ben. I am afraid he is dead now.” 

“ Oh, bless you ! no, he isn’t. Don’t be frightened, Miss 
Bertha. Here comes Mrs. Green.” 

The housekeeper’s opinion coincided with that of the 
boatman, that Noddy was not dangerously injured. She 
was an experienced nurse, and proceeded to take such 
measures for the relief of the sufferer as the case required. 
Before the doctor arrived the patient began to exhibit 
some signs of consciousness. He opened his eyes, and 
gazed around the room with a bewildered stare. The 
costly furniture was in strong contrast w T ith anything he 
had ever before seen, and it was no wonder that he w T as 
bewildered. 

As if conscious that he was not in his proper element, 
he suddenly attempted to rise, but sank back upon the bed 
with a deep groan, and closed his eyes again. The arrival 


Rich and Humble 


3 1 

of the doctor was gladly welcomed by Bertha. After a 
patient examination, he declared that the boy was badly 
hurt; that three of his ribs were fractured, and that he 
was probably injured internally. 

Before evening Noddy was in full possession of his 
senses, but was suffering intense pain. Bertha remained 
by his side, ministering to all his wants with as much zeal 
and interest as though the patient had been her own 
brother. 

When Mr. Grant came home, he found his daughter 
bending over the sick bed of the friendless outcast ; and 
then, more than ever before, he realized what a treasure 
he possessed in this darling child. Richard was proud and 
haughty, but Bertha was a friend to the poor; humble even 
in possession of all the luxury and splendor which the world 
can afford. 

Mr. Grant listened with pleasure to Bertha’s narrative 
of the events of the day. Of the conduct of her brother 
in the morning she said nothing, for she had decided to 
wait till necessity compelled her to do so. She hoped 
Richard would reform his life, and, as he had given up the 
race, she was encouraged to believe that he was taking the 
first steps toward amendment. 

The next day Noddy was feverish, and for a week he 
suffered a great deal. Bertha took care of him most of the 
time during the day, while Ben and the housekeeper at- 
tended him at night. Every day the boatman brought 
the children of the school from the Glen to the house, where, 
with the assistance of Mrs. Green and the chambermaids, 
the garments of the boys and girls were completed, and as 
soon as Noddy began to improve, Bertha gave them a 
picnic on Van Alstine’s Island. 

But the sick boy was not willing that his little nurse 
should leave him. His severe sickness seemed to have pro- 
duced a wonderful effect upon him. It softened his heart, 
and made him more human than he had ever been before. 
He had become strongly attached to Bertha, and listened 


Rich and Humble 


3 2 

attentively to the gentle lessons of wisdom with which she 
improved the hours of his convalescence. 

It was a fortnight before he was able to sit up, and a 
month before he could go out of the house; but much of 
the spirit of his life and character had returned to him, 
and he longed for the health and strength which would 
enable him to roam the fields and forests, and sail upon 
the river, as he had done before his fall. 

“ I shall be so glad to be well again ! ” exclaimed he, as 
he walked on the lawn one day with Bertha. 

“ What will you do then ? ” 

“ I shall run and climb and sail as I used to do ; but I 
will go to your school, Miss Bertha.” 

“ Don’t you want to do something better than spend 
your time in idleness?” 

“What can I do?” 

“ You can learn to be a useful and respectable man.” 

“ I don’t think I shall ever be of any use to anyone but 
myself. It was queer that I fell that day, after I had told 
you I knew enough not to fall.” 

“ It was all for the best, Noddy.” 

“ I don’t believe that. How r could it be best for me to 
stave in my ribs, and lie here, like a fool, for a month? ” 

“Perhaps it will prove to be the best thing that ever 
happened to you.” 

“ You don’t mean so, Miss Bertha,” said the pale boy, 
with a smile. 

“I do, Noddy. Our misfortunes are blessings to us; 
and we ought to be as thankful for them as for the pros- 
perity we enjoy. If you had continued your wild life much 
longer, you would probably have been taken up and sent 
to prison.” 

Noddy made no reply, but kept thinking of what Bertha 
had said. He could not fully comprehend such wisdom, 
though he could not help believing that his coming to 
Woodville was a great event in his life. His fair instruct- 
ress improved the advantage she had obtained, and the 
little savage was already more than half civilized. 


Rich and Humble 


33 

During the month that Noddy had been confined to the 
house, Richard did not once visit Whitestone, or meet any 
of his former dissolute companions; but whether this was 
from mortification at his failure to sail the Greyhound 
with Tom Mullen, or because he had really commenced 
upon a new life, was a matter of painful doubt to Bertha. 
His father steadily refused to supply him with money, and 
he spent most of the time at home. He would not permit 
any allusion to the half eagles, either by his sister or the 
boatman. 

He was gloomy and taciturn. When he used the Grey- 
hound ', he did not go near the other side of the river, and 
carefully avoided meeting any other boats, especially those 
belonging to Whitestone. One day, as he was sailing near 
the island, he observed a great commotion on board of a 
passing steamer, and soon ascertained that a man had fallen 
overboard. Trimming his sails, he bore down upon the 
spot, and succeeded in saving the stranger from a watery 
grave. 

In the gratitude of his heart, the gentleman presented 
him with fifty dollars in gold, as he landed him on the pier 
at Whitestone, where the steamer had made a landing. 

44 Your name, young man,” said the gentleman. 

44 John Green,” replied Richard, after some hesitation. 

44 God bless you, John Green! I shall remember your 
name as long as I live,” added the stranger, as he shook 
him warmly by the hand, and hastened on board of the 
steamer. 

44 John Green! ” muttered Richard to himself, as he 
turned the bow of his boat toward Woodville, 44 I’m rich 
now, and that boat race shall come off yet.” 

If anyone had asked Richard why he had given a false 
name to the gentleman whose life he had saved, his pride 
would not have permitted him to acknowledge the mean- 
ness of the motive which prompted the falsehood. It was 
that he might conceal the fact of possessing so large a 
sum of money from the family at Woodville. 


Rich and Humble 


34 

The next da}', the Greyhound made another visit to 
Whitestone, and the terms of the contest between the two 
Boats were arranged. Richard excused his long absence 
upon the plea that he had been sick, and his graceless com- 
panions were too glad to see him again to find much fault. 
The race was to take place in three days, and the stakes 
were placed in the hands of Bob Bleeker, who was to act 
as umpire upon the great occasion. 

On the day before the race, Richard had the bottom of 
the Greyhound cleaned, her sails and ropes carefully ad- 
justed, and everything done that would add a particle to 
his chance of winning the regatta. This time he kept his 
own counsel, and did not even tell Ben of the coming race. 

The fifty dollars in his pocket had wrought a great 
change in the manner of Richard. He was no longer dull 
■and gloomy, but full of life and energy. None of the fam- 
ily or the servants knew it was he who had saved the 
stranger from drowning, and, with all the neighborhood, 
had wondered who John Green was. No one had ever 
heard of him before, and the more they wondered, the more 
Richard chuckled over his own cunning and deception. 

When Richard had completed his preparations for the 
race, he sat in the stern sheets of the Greyhound, thinking 
of the triumph he was so confident of winning. 

“Richard! Richard!” called Bertha from the pier. 

“ What do you want, Berty ? ” 

“ Father hasn’t come home.” 

“Well, what of it?” 

“ The train has arrived, and he did not come in it. 
Where do you suppose he is ? ” continued Bertha, as she 
stepped into her boat, and rowed to the Greyhound. 

“ I don’t know. Perhaps he was talking politics, and 
forgot to get out at the station,” replies Richard, indiffer- 
ently. 

“ No; Mr. Barton said he was not in the cars.” 

“‘He is safe enough.” 

“ He has looked very sad and troubled for several days. 


Rich and Humble 


35 

I am afraid something has happened,” added Bertha, as 
she pulled back to the wharf. 

CHAPTER V 

GOOD NEWS AND BAD 

The return of her father from the city was a happy 
event to Bertha, and she was always the first to greet him 
on his arrival. It was an everyday occurrence, but it lost 
none of its interest on this account. He was the only 
parent she had, and his smile, as she welcomed him home, 
was worth all the watching and waiting which it cost. 

When, therefore, on that eventful evening, the man who 
had gone to drive him up from the railroad station re- 
turned without him, gloomy forebodings filled her mind. 
Her father was very regular and methodical in his habits, 
and had never missed a train, or remained away overnight 
without announcing his intention to do so beforehand. 
This fact, added to the sad and anxious look which Mr. 
Grant had worn for several days, was enough to awaken 
painful thoughts, even in a mind less sensitive than that 
of Bertha. 

The long, gloomy night wore away without any tidings 
from the absent father. Richard slept, and Fanny slept, 
but Bertha scarcely closed her eyes, so deeply was she 
impressed with the dread of some coming calamity. Long 
before sunrise, she left her chamber, and wandered up and 
down she walks upon the lawn, trying to make herself be- 
lieve that nothing had happened to her father. 

“ Why, Miss Bertha, how pale you are this morning! ” 
exclaimed Noddy, as he met her on the lawn, after the 
first bell had rung. “ Are you sick? ” 

“ No, Noddy, I am not sick.” 

“ What ails you, then ? Is it because your father did 
not come home last night ? ” 

“ Not because he did not come home, but because I fear 
something has happened to him.” 

“ Well, I am glad I haven’t got any father to bother 


36 Rich and Humble 

me like that ! I never had any trouble about my relations,” 
laughed Noddy. 

“ You must not talk so, Noddy; it does not sound well. 
If you had a good and kind father, as I have, he would be 
a great joy to you.” 

“But your father don’t seem to be a great joy to 3 T ou 
just now,” added Noddy, whose philosophy had been de- 
veloped at the expense of his affections. 

“ Yes, he is ; and even if I knew that he were dead ” — 
and Bertha shuddered as she uttered the words — “ the re- 
membrance of his love and kindness would still be a great 
joy to me.” 

“ Well, I don’t understand those things, and I suppose 
I ought not to say anything about them,” said Noddy, 
as he observed the great tear that slid down the pale cheek 
of Bertha. “ There’s going to be a race to-day.” 

“ What kind of a race ? ” 

“ Mr. Richard is going to race with Tom Mullen. Each 
one put up five dollars, and Bob Bleeker has got the 
money.” 

Bertha was shocked at this piece of new r s, for it assured 
her that her brother had never made a resolution to aban- 
don his evil associates, or that he had broken it. 

“ Are you sure of what you say, Noddy? ” 

“ Yes ; I am certain of it. Tom Mullen told me all about 
it yesterday.” 

“ Where did you see him ? ” 

“ I saw him on the river. You know you lent me your 
boat to go up to the island, and I met him on my way 
back. The reason why he told me was, that he wanted to 
know what Mr. Richard had been doing to his boat, to 
make her sail faster.” 

The conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the 
breakfast bell. Bertha noticed that Richard was more than 
usually excited. He hurried through the morning meal, 
and hasetned down to the wharf, w 7 hither Bertha followed 
him, and joined him on board the Greyhound. 

“ I w r ish you w r ould take the morning train to the city, 


Rich and Humble 


37 

Richard, and ascertain what has become of father,” said 
Bertha, as she stepped into the sailboat. “ I feel almost 
sure something has happened to him.” 

“ I can’t go to-day,” replied Richard, impatiently. 

“Why not, Dick? ” 

“ Because I can’t. I think that is reason enough.” 

“ How rude you are ! If you felt as badly as I do, you 
would be glad to go.” 

“Badly? Why should you feel badly? Don’t you 
think father is old enough, and knows enough, to take care 
of himself? ” 

“ You know he has the heart complaint, and ” 

Bertha could not complete her sentence, for there was 
in her mind a vivid picture of her father lying dead in his 
office, where he might have fallen when there was no one 
near to help him, or even to witness his expiring agony. 
She burst into tears and wept in silence, with the awful 
picture still before her mental vision. Richard, disturbed 
by none of his sister’s doubts or fears, coolly cast loose the 
sails of the Greyhound , and made his preparations for the 
exciting event of the day. Bertha continued to weep, with- 
out his sympathy or even his notice, for a time. 

“ My poor father ! ” sobbed Bertha. 

“ What are you crying about, Berty? ” 

“ I am almost certain that something has happened to 
father. He never stayed away overnight before without 
letting us know where he was.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! He is full of business, and something 
has detained him. If he were sick, or anything worse had 
happened to him, we should have heard of it before this 
time. I tell you it is all right.” 

“ Even if it is all right, it will do no harm to ascertain 
the fact. You can go to the city this morning, and return 
by the noon train,” said Bertha, whose anxiety for her 
father had overshadowed everything else, and even made 
her forget the race of which Noddy had told her. 

“ I told you I couldn’t go this morning,” answered he, 
petulantly. “Why don’t you go yourself?” 


Rich and Humble 


38 

“ I cannot leave to-day. Fanny is to have her party 
this afternoon.” 

“ Well, I can’t go, and it is of no use to talk about it. 
I have an engagement that I must keep.” 

“ I hope you are not going with that wicked Tom Mul- 
len again,” added she, as Noddy’s unpleasant intelligence 
recurred to her mind. 

“ I don’t want any preaching.” 

“You are going with those boys again! Oh, Richard! 
I beg of you, do not.” 

“ What’s the matter now ? ” sneered Richard. 

“ Stay at home to-day with me, Richard. You don’t 
know how lonely and sad I feel.” 

“ The more fool you ! ” 

“ How unkind you are, Dick ! ” 

“ Come, Berty, don’t whine any more ; that’s a good 
girl,” said he, changing his tone as policy, rather than 
feeling, seemed to dictate. “ If father doesn’t come home 
before three o’clock, and you don’t hear from him, I will 
agree to go to the city by the afternoon train, and find 
out where he is. Positively, Berty, that is the best I can 
do. Now, be a good girl, Berty, and go ashore, or you 
won’t be ready for Fanny’s party.” 

“ I feel almost as bad for you as I do for father,” sobbed 
Bertha. 

“ Why, what under the canopy of Jupiter has got into 
you now? ” exclaimed Richard, suspending his work, and 
looking in her face with astonishment. 

“ I know you are going to do something wrong to-day, 
Dick.” 

“ Do you, indeed ? Then you are a long way ahead of 
my time. What do you mean ? ” 

“ You are going to sail your boat against Tom Mul- 
len’s.” 

“ Who told you that ? ” 

“ Isn’t it so, Dick? ” 

“Well, suppose it is; what then? There is no great 
harm in racing boats, I hope.” 


Rich and Humble 


39 

“ And you have put up five dollars, as a bet, on the 
race.” 

“Who told you this?” 

“ Is it true, Dick? ” 

“ Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t ; what then? ” 

“You don’t answer me, Dick!” 

“ Did you ever hear of such a thing as a race for noth- 
ing ? ” answered he, sullenly. “ I would give another five 
dollars to know who told you this.” 

“ Money seems to be very plenty with you, though 
father hasn’t given you any for six or seven weeks.” 

“ Now, you have said enough, Berty, and you may go 
ashore. Do you think I am going to listen to your preach- 
ing, and have you domineer over me, like that? If you 
don’t leave the boat, I will help you ashore,” said Richard, 
who w T as now so angry that he had lost control of himself. 

“ Don’t be angry, Richard. You are my brother and 
you know I would not willingly offend you.” 

“ That’s just what you are doing.” 

“ But you are going with those bad boys again. You 
are taking your first steps in gambling. If you knew how 
bad these things make me feel, you wouldn’t be cross to 
me. I don’t want to have my brother like Tom Mullen.” 

“ Now, shut up ! Don’t w r hine any more over me. I am 
able to take care of myself, and I don’t want a sermon 
from you every time you happen to have the blues.” 

“ Where did you get the money, Dick, to bet on the 
race? ” 

“ That’s none of your business,” replied Richard, rudely. 
“ Do you mean to hint that I stole it? ” 

“ I hope not, Dick.” 

“ If you haven’t any better opinion of me than that, 
you had better hold your tongue.” 

“ You remember the other time, w r hen you were going 
to have this race with Tom Mullen? You know what you 
were tempted to do that time? ” 

“ That was father’s money, and just as much mine as 


Rich and Humble 


40 

it was yours. You wouldn’t lend me the money, and you 
see what you made me do.”* 

“ I only wanted to keep you away from those boys. If 
father were at home, you know he wouldn’t let you go.” 

“ He couldn’t help himself,” growled Richard ; “ and 
you can’t; so you may as well go into the house, and hold 
your tongue.” 

“ Won’t you give up this race for my sake, Richard? ” 
pleaded the poor girl, whose solicitude was now divided 
between her father and her brother. 

“No, I won’t! All the teasing, scolding, preaching, 
fretting and threatening in the world won’t make me back 
out this time.” 

“ At least tell me where you got the money that you 
put up.” 

“ I won’t do that, either,” said Richard, stoutly. “ I 
came honestly by it, and that’s enough for you to know. 
You need not scold or threaten any more, but go home.” 

“ I haven’t threatened you,” sighed Bertha ; “ you know 
I didn’t tell father about the ten dollars.” 

“ I know you didn’t ; but you told him I went with Tom 
Mullen and the rest of the fellows, and that was just as 
bad.” 

“ I did it for your good.” 

“ If you won’t go ashore, I will ! ” said Richard, angrily, 
as he jumped into his skiff and paddled to the wharf as 
fast as he could. 

Poor Bertha, trembling for her father and her brother, 
was sorely tried by the unfeeling conduct of the latter. 
She could do nothing to restore the one or redeem the 
other. Richard would go, though she had done all she 
could to prevent him from doing so. As she sat weeping 
in the boat, she tried to think of some plan to keep Richard 
at home. She knew that Ben could do it; that he would 
even lock him up in the boathouse, if she wished him to do 
so ; but she was unwilling to resort to extreme measures. 

Whatever else might be, it was certain that crying would 
do no good; and summoning all her resolution, she dried 


Rich and Humble 


4i 

her tears, and determined to make the best of her trying 
| situation. Stepping into the boat, she rowed to the shore. 
Her resolution was already imparting new courage to her 
soul, and she felt that she could endure all that might be 
in store for her. But she did not abandon her purpose to 
save her brother. He had left her in anger, and she hoped, 
when he became himself again, that he would hear her. 

As she passed up the path toward the house, where Rich- 
ard had gone, she saw* Ben hastening tow 7 ard her v*ith all 
the speed his rheumatic joints would permit. As he ap- 
proached he held up a letter, which caused Bertha’s heart 
to beat with hope and fear. 

“ Here is a letter, Miss Bertha. The handwriting is 
your father’s ; so I suppose nothing has happened to him,” 
said Ben, as he gave her the letter. 

“ I hope not. Where did you get it? ” asked Bertha, as 
she tore open the envelope. 

“ The conductor on the morning train brought it up.” 

Bertha’s face lighted up with pleasure as she read the 
first line ; but as she proceeded with the letter, her expres- 
sion changed, and the shade of sadness deepened into a 
look of grief and alarm. The letter was as follows: 

“ New York City, August 12th. 

“ My Dear Children : An unexpected event detained 
me in the city last night, and prevented me from sending 
you any word that I could not go home as usual ; but I am 
alive and well, and I hope my unexplained absence did not 
cause you any anxiety or alarm. 

“ But, my dear children, the event to which I allude 
promises the most serious consequences to me in my busi- 
ness relations, and before many days you may be called 
upon to share with me the trials and misfortunes from 
w'hich only a few men in active business life can be ex- 
empted. You may be compelled to give up the comforts 
and luxuries of our elegant home; but while your father 
retains his honor and integrity, can you not bear with him 
the loss of everything else? I do not yet know the extent 


Rich and Humble 


42 

of mY misfortune, and I have only mentioned it that you 
might the sooner learn to endure with patience the change 
to which we must submit. 

“ I shall not be able to go home to-night or to-morrow 
night — perhaps not for several days. I am much distressed 
by the aspect of my business affairs ; but it would be a 
great relief to me, when I do go home, to find that my chil- 
dren have the courage to endure the heavy blow that has 
come upon us. Be patient and hopeful, and all will yet 
be well with us. 

“ Your affectionate father, 

“ Franklin Grant.” 

Bertha was astonished and bewildered by the contents 
of this letter. She told the boatman that her father was 
alive and well; but she deemed it prudent to conceal the 
rest of the letter from him for the present. The bad news 
it contained would travel fast enough, without any assist- 
ance from her. 

While reading the letter, she had. seen Richard come 
out of the house and walk off in another direction. She 
asked Ben to find him, and send him to the house, where 
she went herself, rejoiced to find her worst fears were not 
realized, but almost stunned by the shock which the letter 
had given her. It was terrible to think of leaving Wood- 
ville ; to step down from the pinnacle of wealth to the low 
level of poverty ; but, as she had been rich and humble, the 
fall would be a gentle one to her ; yet how terrible to Rich- 
ard and Fanny ! 

Richard read the letter, turned pale, and wondered what 
it all meant. Bertha said it was plain that her father had 
failed in business. She was calm and resigned, he was mo- 
rose and sullen. 

“ You will not go to the race now, Dick? ” she asked. 

“ I will ! ” and he rushed out of the house, down the hill, 
to the wharf ; but when he got there, nothing but the top- 
mast of the Greyhound could be seen. 

She had sunk in fifteen feet of water! 


Rich and Humble 


43 


CHAPTER VI 

THE “ GREYHOUND ” FLOATS AGAIN 

The rage of Richard knew no bounds when he discov- 
ered the topmast of the Greyhound , with the little tri- 
colored flag still flaunting upon it, rising but a few feet 
above the waves of the Hudson. There she had floated, as 
gayly and as buoyantly as a swan, only an hour before. 
But there was no one near to hear his exclamations of 
wrath and disappointment, as he beheld the ruin of all his 
hopes for that day. I am sorry to add that he swore 
roundly; but a boy who could associate with rowdies and 
blacklegs would not be too nice to use profane language. 

While he was still venting his impotent frenzy, Ben ar- 
rived at the wharf. The boatman had not discovered the 
calamity which had befallen the Greyhound till he reached 
the wharf, for the gloomy expression of Bertha still 
haunted his mind, and he was wondering what had hap- 
pened to cover with shadows the face which was wont to 
be all sunshine. When he raised his eyes from the ground, 
and looked off upon the water — as an old sailor always 
does when he first comes near the sea, or on deck from 
below — he saw the flaunting flag of the Greyhound , fifteen 
feet lower down than when he had last looked upon it, and 
he appeared to be quite as much surprised as Richard. 

“ Ben, who did that? 99 roared Richard, as the boatman 
moved out to the end of the wharf. 

He was almost bursting with anger and vexation ; and 
no doubt his mind was filled with suspicions and conjec- 
tures in regard to the author of this mischief, for he had 
already come to the conclusion that it had an author, as 
the Greyhound would never have done so mean a thing as 
to sink without assistance. 

Ben was an elderly man, and he had always been treated 
with consideration and respect by Mr. Grant and all his 
household ; therefore he felt that the tone with which “ Mr. 
Richard ” addressed him was not proper or even tolerable. 


44 Rich and Humble 

“ I don’t know, Mr. Richard,” replied the boatman, in 
a gruff, man-of-war tone, and without even condescending 
to express any regret or surprise at the singular event. 

“ If I knew who did it, I would kill him ! ” foamed 
Richard. 

“ Then it is lucky for him that you don’t know,” added 
Ben, rather coolly. 

“ She didn’t sink herself.” 

“ I didn’t say she did, Mr. Richard.” 

“ Then who did it ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do know; and if you don’t tell me, I’ll hold 
you responsible for it,” said Richard with an emphasis 
which ought to have produced a startling effect upon the 
old boatman. 

But it did not appear to produce any effect; for Ben 
hitched up his long blue trousers, turned upon his heel, 
and slowly walked off. 

“ Why don’t you answer me, Ben? ” 

“ I haven’t anything to say, Mr. Richard,” replied the 
old man, continuing his walk up the wharf. 

“ How dare you turn your back upon me in that man- 
ner? Come back here, and answer my questions.” 

As Ben would not come back, Richard went to him, and, 
with clinched fists, placed himself in front of the old boat- 
man, as though he meant to thrash him on the spot for 
his impudence. If Richard had been himself, as his hump- 
backed namesake declared he was on a certain occasion, he 
would not have ventured into this belligerent attitude. He 
was beside himself with passion, and there was neither wis- 
dom nor discretion left in him. 

“ Mr. Richard,” said the boatman, after he had delib- 
erately surveyed the youngster from head to foot for a 
moment, “ you are my employer’s son, and I don’t want 
to harm you ; but I don’t allow anyone to insult me. I 
am a poor man, but there isn’t anybody in the world that 
is rich enough to insult me. Now, get out of my way.” 

“Tell me who sunk that boat!” 


Rich and Humble 


45 

The great, broad hand of the old boatman suddenly- 
dropped upon the shoulder of the youngster, a vigorous 
shaking followed, and he Was laid upon the ground as 
gently as a mother would deposit her babe in the cradle. 
That strong arm was too much for Richard, and when 
he rose, he placed a respectful distance between himself 
and the owner of it. 

“ You did it ! I know you did ! ” growled Richard. “ I 
will pay you for it before you are many days older.” 

Ben deigned no reply to this rude speech, but walked up 
the law T n toward the house. On his way he was met by 
Bertha, who from her window had discovered the mishap 
which had befallen the Greyhound , as well as witnessed the 
scene we have just described; and she was coming down 
to make peace between the parties. 

In a few words Ben told her what had happened, assur- 
ing her that he was entirely ignorant of the cause of the 
sinking of the boat. 

“ Mr. Richard is very angry just now, and I think you 
had better keep away from him for a time. When he comes 
to himself, he and I have an account to be squared,” said 

Ben. 

“ Don’t be angry with him. He will be sorry for what 
he has done.” 

“ Bless you, Miss Bertha, I’m not angry. I couldn’t get 
angry with a youngster like him if I tried,” added the 
boatman with a benign smile. 

“ I hope not.” 

“ Mr. Richard is a good-hearted boy, and before he 
began to run with those beggarly rowdies on the other 
side, he was an honest and well-meaning boy. If I had 
him on board ship, a thousand miles from the nearest land, 
I could make a man of him in three days.” 

With this encouraging remark, Ben hitched up his 
trousers again, and continued his walk toward the house. 
Acting upon the suggestion of the boatman, Bertha de- 
cided to let her brother cool off for a while, before she went 
near him. The sinking of the boat seemed like a provi- 


46 Rich and Humble 

dential event to her, since it must prevent the race she so 
much dreaded. Yet if Richard had the will to associate 
with dissolute persons, even this accident could not restrain 
him. 

She could not help asking herself, as she sat waiting 
for Richard’s wrath to subside, what effect the change of 
fortune would have upon him. If it saved him from the 
error of his ways, it would be a blessing instead of a mis- 
fortune. Her brother was proud, and gloried in the wealth 
and social position of his father. The rowdies of White- 
stone had discovered his weak point, and as long as he paid 
for the oysters, cigars — and liquors, for aught we know — 
they were willing to flatter him, and to yield the homage 
which he so much coveted. 

Misfortune had swept away the wealth of his father, and 
he was placed on a level with those who had before looked 
up to him. If Mr. Grant had the will, he had no longer 
the ability to furnish his children with money, as he had 
done before. But Richard still had a large portion of the 
fifty dollars left, and he was not disposed to consider any 
of these questions. They did not even occur to him. His 
mind was all absorbed by the race. 

When she thought a sufficient time had elapsed for Rich- 
ard to recover his self-possession, Bertha joined him on 
the wharf, where he still sat, brooding over the ruin of his 
hopes. He noticed Bertha as she approached, but his in- 
terview with Ben had evaporated the violence of his tem- 
per, and he permitted her to seat herself by his side with- 
out uttering a word. 

“ Richard, I am sorry you were so rude to Ben. He is 
an old man, and he has always been very kind to you,” 
said Bertha in the gentlest tones of peace and affection. 

“ He had no business to sink my boat then,” muttered 
Richard. 

“ He did not do it.” 

“ How do you know he didn’t? ” 

“ He went down to the railroad station while we were at 
breakfast, and did not return till after you came on shore. 


Rich and Humble 


47 

He handed me the letter as I was going up to the house, 
and then went for his breakfast. He did not come down 
here again until after you did, and then he found you here. 
It is impossible that he should have done it.” 

“ Then you must have done it yourself.” 

“ No, Richard ; I did not. You have had your eyes upon 
me ever since we landed from the boat.” 

“ You knew about the race, and wanted to prevent me 
from going to it.” 

“ But I did not sink your boat ; neither do I know by 
whom it was done.” 

Richard knew that Bertha always spoke the truth, and 
he would as soon have doubted his own existence as doubted 
her word. In spite of his theory that she had done it, or 
caused it to be done, to defeat his plans, he was compelled 
to believe what she said. 

“ I don’t understand it, then,” said he, greatly per- 
plexed. “ You were the last person on board of her.” 

“ It is as much a mystery to me as it is to you ; but I 
hope you will give up this race.” 

“ I can’t do anything else now. I put the money up, 
and t suppose I have lost it.” 

“ That is of little consequence.” 

“ So you say ; but the fellows will think I did it to avoid 
the racei” 

“ Let them think so ; it won’t injure you.” 

“ But I would give a good deal to know how it was done.” 

“ Perhaps some boat ran into her while she lay at her 
moorings. How do you know that Tom Mullen didn’t 
do it ? ” 

“ He wouldn’t do such a thing.” 

“ He isn’t any too good to do a mean action.” 

“ If I thought he did do it ! ” said Richard, as he jumped 
from the seat, apparently convinced that he did do it. 
“ Where is Ben ? I wonder if we can’t raise her, and have 
the race yet? ” 

“ Do you think Ben would help you now? ” asked Ber- 
tha, reproachfully. 


Rich and Humble 


48 

“ I am sorry for what I said to him ; but I was fully con- 
vinced that he had done the mischief by your order. I 
will beg his pardon ; ” and Richard ran up to the house, 
and made his peace with Ben, which was not a difficult mat- 
ter, for the old boatman was almost a grandfather to all 
three of the children. 

“ Certainly, Mr. Richard, I forgive you with all my 
heart, and I am glad of the chance to do so, for this thing 
made me feel worse than it did you. Now we will go down 
and find out what made the Greyhound go to the bottom,” 
said Ben, as he led the way to the wharf. 

Bertha had returned to the house, to attend to the prep- 
arations for Fanny’s party, or possibly she might have ob- 
jected to any investigations in the direction indicated. 
Richard did not have the courage to ask Ben to help raise 
the boat; but when they reached the wharf, the old man 
went to the boathouse, and brought out sundry coils of 
rigging, blocks and other gear. Then, with the end of a 
line in his hand, he stepped into Bertha’s boat with Rich- 
ard, and sculled off to the place where the Greyhound had 
sunk. 

Fastening the line to the painter of the sunken boat, he 
sculled back again. On their return to the wharf, they 
found Noddy there, an anxious observer of their pro- 
ceedings. 

“ Noddy, do you know who sunk this boat? ” said Rich- 
ard, who happened to think just then that the little savage 
had been sitting on the pier during the angry interview 
between himself and Bertha. 

“ I expect she sunk herself,” replied he, with one of his 
wild leers. 

“ If you know anything about it, tell me at once,” added 
Richard, sternly. 

“ I don’t know anything about it.” 

“ Yes, you do, you little villain ! ” continued Richard, 
beginning to get excited. 

“ Keep cool, Mr. Richard,” interposed the boatman. 
w We have no time to spare in that manner. Of course the 


Rich and Humble 


49 

boy don’t know anything about it. Here, you young scul- 
pin, run up and tell John to bring the two plow horses 
down here as quick as he can.” 

Noddy, whose health was now almost restored, ran off 
toward the stables, chuckling as he went, as if he was glad 
to escape any further questions. 

Ben now sent Richard up into a large tree which grew 
on the very verge of the water, where, under the old man’s 
directions, he fastened a block, and passed the long line 
from the boat through it. Another block was attached 
near the ground, and the line run through it. By this time 
the horses had come, and were hitched to the end of the 
rope. 

Richard was deeply interested in the operation, and 
what he could not understand, the boatman explained to 
him. The rope was run through the block in the tree so 
as to pull the boat upward from the bottom of the river. 

“ Now start up the horses, John, very slowly, and stop 
quick, when I give the order,” said Ben, as he stepped into 
the skiff, and paddled out to the mast of the Greyhound . 
“ Now, go ahead, John,” shouted he. 

The horses pulled, and in a few moments the sailboat 
was safely landed on the grass by the side of the water. 
On examination, it was found that the plug in the bottom 
had been taken out, and greater than ever was the mystery 
in regard to the author of the mischief ; but Richard, elated 
at the success of the boatman’s labors, had ceased to care 
who had sunk the boat, so intent was he upon the prospects 
of the race. 

The boat was baled out, and washed out, and half an 
hour of sunshine restored her to her former condition. 

“ Ben, I am ever so much obliged to you for what you 
have done, and all the more sorry for what happened this 
morning,” said Richard, as the boatman was leaving the 
Greyhound. “ You have saved me from disgrace and 
defeat.” 

“ Why so? ” 


Rich and Humble 


5 ° 

“ I am going to run the race with Tom Mullen this 
morning.” 

“Are you? If I had known it, I wouldn’t have raised 
jour boat to save her from destruction,” replied Ben, with 
a sad look. 

“ Miss Bertha don’t want him to go,” added Noddy, 
who was seated in the bow of Ben’s boat. “ I heard her 
teasing him to give it up, and he wouldn’t.” 

“ Shut up, you young monkey ! ” said Ben. “ Boys 
should be seen, and not heard.” 

The old boatman used all the powers of his rude elo- 
quence to dissuade Richard from going ; but the latter 
prated about his faith and his honor, and declared that he 
must go; and he did go. 

“ Poor boy ! ” sighed Ben. “ He is a smart, likely, 
good-hearted fellow, and it is a pity that he should go to 
ruin.” 

“ Miss Bertha cried as though her heart would break, 
trying to make him give up the race. Something awful 
has happened to Mr. Grant, too,” added Noddy. “ I heard 
Miss Bertha say he had failed, if you know what that 
means — I don’t.” 

“ Failed ! ” gasped old Ben. 

“ Yes, sir ; but Richard would go, and that’s the reason 
why I pulled the plug out, and sank the boat,” continued 
Noddy, innocently. 


CHAPTER VII 

TERRIBLE NEWS 

Noddy Newman’s confession promised to get him into 
trouble with Richard, if the latter should discover that 
he was the cause of the mischief. Ben, the old boatman, 
fully sympathized with the young savage in what he had 
done ; for, when the latter related the conversation between 
Bertha and her brother, to which he had listened, and told 
how badly he felt when Mr. Richard scolded at her, and 
declared that he would go to the race, his indignation was 


Rich and Humble 


5 1 

as deeply roused as that of the listener had been, and he 
decided that it would be better for all parties if the truth, 
were concealed. 

Richard had gone to the race, and there was nothing 
more that could be done to save him from the consequences 
of his own folly and waywardness. Noddy was well satis- 
fied with what he had done, especially after the approval 
of Ben. All he lived for was to please Miss Bertha, and, 
if he could do anything to carry out her views, he was not 
very particular to avoid displeasing anybody else. If she 
wished to prevent Richard from going to the race, he was 
ready to sink the boat, or even to burn and destroy it. 
What the owner of her liked or disliked was a matter s of no 
consequence to him. 

Noddy’s ideas of right and wrong, of truth and justice, 
were not very clearly defined. He had no particular devo- 
tion to the truth as such, and no particular love of justice 
for its own sake. He did not remain at Woodville because 
he liked the place, after he had strength enough to return 
to his former vagabond life, but because Bertha was there. 
He was willing to do right, so far as he understood it, 
because she desired him to do so. It must be confessed that 
principle had not yet been developed in his character. His 
only law was to do what his fair and loving mistress wished 
him to do, and he had no higher idea of duty than this. He 
cared for no one, was afraid of no one. Her friends were 
his friends, and, if she had had any foes, they would have 
been his foes. 

Ben sat on the wharf, watching the Greyhound, as she 
swept forward on her course. He was sad and dull, for 
the information which Noddy had given him was full of 
grief to the old servant of the family. As he reflected 
upon the import of the fearful words which expressed the 
misfortune of Mr. Grant, the tears gathered on his brown 
check. 

“What ails you, Ben?” asked Noddy, who was lying 
upon the wharf, gazing into the face of the boatman. 

“ What ails me? You young sculpin, are you here? I 


52 Rich and Humble 

thought 3 r ou had gonh,” replied Ben, roughly, as he wiped 
away the tears. 

“ Y ou are crying ! ” 

“ Crying? Nonsense! Did you ever see an old* sailor 
cry? ” 

“ I never did before.” 

“ I am not crying, you little lubber ! I am getting old, 
and my eyes are weak. The sun makes them water a little.” 

“ Tell me what it is about, Ben, and perhaps I will cry, 
too,” added Noddy, suddenly dropping his chin, and look- 
ing as gloomy as though he had lost his best friend. 

“ Run away, boy — up to the house. Miss Bertha wants 
you to help her about the party. You must turn somer- 
sets, stand on your head, and cut all the capers you can 
this afternoon, to please the children who will come to the 
party, for I think it will be the last party the young 
folks will ever have at Woodville. Go and limber up your 
back, boy.” 

“ I will do anything Miss Bertha wants me to do, if it is 
to swallow my own head, or turn inside out,” replied 
Noddy, as he walked away, with the feeling that there was 
■a chance for him to do something to please Ins young mis- 
tress. 

On the way up to the house, he stopped in the grove to 
practice a few gymnastic feats, for he was not certain 
whether his ribs were yet in condition to enable him to 
entertain a party of young ladies. But his bones were all 
right, and his gyrations would have been creditable to a 
traveling circus company. When he had satisfied himself 
that he was in condition to perform, he walked leisurely up 
to the house to report to Bertha. 

She did not give him much encouragement that his en- 
tertainment would be an acceptable one to the delicate 
young ladies who were to come from the homes of wealth 
and taste in the vicinity ; but she Avas pleased with his de- 
votion — with his efforts to do something for the amuse- 
ment of the party. During the rest of the forenoon she 
kept him busy in preparing the rooms for the reception of 


Rich and Humble 


53 

the company, and Noddy was never so well satisfied as when 
he felt that he was doing something to assist or amuse 
Bertha. 

At two o’clock in the afternoon everything was ready 
for the party. Miss Fanny was dressed like a fairy queen ; 
Bertha, more plainly robed, was not less fascinating, and 
even Noddy Newmati was so disguised by his new clothes 
that he looked very much like a little gentleman. Two 
o’clock came, and half-past two, and three, but not a single 
young lady who had been invited to the party made her 
appearance. 

Fanny fretted, pouted and stormed at this want of punc- 
tuality, and even Bertha did not know what to make of it. 
But when four o’clock came, and still not a single guest 
appeared, Fanny gave up to despair, and Bertha was as 
puzzled as though she had been solving problems in Euclid. 
Five o’clock, and six o’clock, came, and still the great par- 
lor of Woodville, with all its flowers and drapei’ies, was 
“ like some banquet hall deserted.” Not a single guest 
came to the party of Miss Fanny, and the rich feast that 
decked the table in the great dining-room was “ wasting its 
sweetness on the desert air.” 

Great were the astonishment and mortification of all in 
the house. Fanny had gone to her chamber, thrown off 
her fine clothes, and was weeping great tears of grief and 
vexation. The steward and the housekeeper were vainly 
trying to explain the circumstance. It was very remark- 
able. 

“ It is very singular,” said Mrs. Green, “ and such a 
slight was never put upon this family before.” 

“ I can’t understand it,” added the steward. 

“ Neither can I.” 

“ I can,” said Noddy, thrusting his hands down to the 
bottom of the pockets in his new pants. 

“ You ! What do you know about it? ” said the steward. 

“ I think there must have been some mistake in the in- 
vitations,” continued the housekeeper. 

“ I tell you, I know all about it,” said Noddy. 


Rich and Humble 


54 

“ What do you know? 99 , 

“ Mr. Grant has failed, and the people round here don’t 
want to have anything more to do with him.” 

Neither the steward nor the housekeeper had heard any- 
thing of this kind before, and they were incredulous; but, 
Bertha, to whom Mrs. Green carried this piece of informa- 
tion, confirmed it. 

“ That is no reason why people should keep their chil- 
dren from coming to Fanny’s party. Two or three of 
our neighbors have failed, and people sympathized with 
them, instead of insulting them, in their misfortune,” said 
Bertha. 

The failure of Mr. Grant certainly was not enough to 
explain the singular unanimity with which the guests of 
the party stayed away. The steward and the housekeeper 
W'ere more indignant than before, and declared that they 
lived in the midst of the heathen. The cakes and the 
creams, the fruits and the candies, for the feast, w r ere put 
away, the parlor was restored to its wonted condition ; but 
grief, chagrin and indignation pervaded every hall and 
apartment at Woodville for the slight that had been put 
upon the family. 

The hour for the return of Mr. Grant had arrived, and 
a man had been sent down to the railroad station to drive 
him up, as usual, for Bertha hoped that he might come 
that night, in spite of what he had said in his note. But 
the man returned alone, bringing the mail and the city 
newspapers. 

As there was no letter from her father, Bertha took up 
one of the papers. The excitement of the party had 
passed away, and the all-engrossing theme of her father’s 
misfortune once more began to prey upon her mind. 
Richard had not yet returned from the race, and she had 
a sad thought for him. Fanny and the housekeeper were 
discussing the party still, and Bertha tried to read the 
newspaper. She ran her eyes up and down the columns, 
in search of any item or article that might interest her. 
Suddenly her gaze was fixed upon a paragraph, which' 


L 


Rich and Humble 


55 

accidentally caught her eye. It chained her attention, 
while her cheeks paled, her eyes dilated and her lips quiv- 
ered. She read it through, as though some terrible fas- 
cination attracted her to the words ; then the paper 
dropped from her hands, a slight groan escaped her pallid 
lips, and she dropped senseless from her chair upon the 
floor. 

Mrs. Green, alarmed at her fall, hastened to her assist- 
ance, and, with a strong arm, placed her upon a sofa. 
She saw that Bertha had only fainted, and immediately 
applied herself with all zeal to her restoration. 

“ What ails her? ” asked Fanny, who was greatly terri- 
fied by the deathlike appearance of her sister. 

“ She has only fainted ; she will get over it in a few min- 
utes, replied Mrs. Green, as she dashed a tumbler of ice 
•water in the patient’s face. 

“ What made her faint? ” 

“ Poor child ! She is all worn out. She didn’t sleep 
any last night, worrying because her father didn’t come 
home ; and I suppose this affair of the party has vexed and 
tormented her, as it has all the rest of us.” 

“ It is enough to make anyone faint. I wonder I don’t 
faint,” added Miss Fanny, who, no doubt, thought she had 
more sorrows, just then, than all the rest of the world put 
together. 

Mrs. Green labored diligently and skillfully for the res- 
toration of Bertha, and in a very short time the poor girl 
opened her eyes, and gazed languidly around the room. 

“ My poor father ! ” sighed she, and she shuddered so 
that her whole frame shook with the paroxysm, as she ut- 
tered the words. 

“ Come, dear, don’t take it so sorely to heart ; your 
father will come back again.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Green ! ” sobbed Bertha, as she looked at 
the housekeeper, and her eyes filled with ears. “ What 
will become of me? ” 

“Don’t take on so, Bertha. You have no reason to 
feel so badly, even if your father has failed.” 


Rich and Humble 


5 6 

44 Failed!” exclaimed Miss Fanny, to whom this intelli- 
gence now came for the first time. 

To the proud little miss this was the most terrible thing 
that could happen, and Mrs. Green began to fear that she 
should have another patient on her hands, for Fanny began 
to cry and rave as though she was to be the only sufferer 
by her father’s misfortune. 

44 Come, children, you will make yourselves sick, if you 
take on in this way. It may not be half as bad as you 
think it is.” 

44 My poor father ! ” sighed Bertha. 

44 No more parties, no more fine dresses; the horses and 
carriages must be sold, and all the servants discharged ! ” 
added Fanny, who, though only eleven years of age, knew 
what a failure meant, and had read some novels from 
which she had obtained the romantic idea of bankruptcy. 

44 What will become of him? ” said Bertha. 

44 What shall I do?” added Fanny. 44 No one thinks 
anything of poor people.” 

44 Come, Bertha, you had better go up to your chamber 
and lie down. You are all beat out with this party, and 
last night,” suggested Mrs. Green. 

44 Has Richard come home? ” 

44 He has not.” 

44 1 wish he would come, Mrs. Green. I must go to the 
city by the first train to-morrow morning.” 

44 By the first train? Why! what for?” 

44 1 must see father,” sighed she. 

* 4 You must be calm, Bertha. This violent taking on 
don’t seem like you.” 

44 You don’t understand it, Mrs. Green,” added Bertha, 
looking sadly at the housekeeper. 

44 Oh, yes, I do ; I have known a hundred people to fail, 
and some of them did not sell a single horse, nor discharge 
a single servant, but lived on just the same as they did 
before they failed. It isn’t such a terrible thing, after 
all.” 


Rich and Humble 


57 

“ You don’t understand it,” groaned Bertha, her eyes 
filling* with tears again. 

“ Why, yes, I do. Some folks fail on purpose, and 
make ever so much money by it. Don’t cry about it.” 

“ It is nothing of that kind that makes me feel so.” 

“ What in the world is it, then ? ” asked the housekeeper, 
astonished and alarmed by the reply. 

“ I cannot tell you. Do not ask me. You will know 
too soon. But I will try to be calm, and not disturb you 
and others by my conduct.” 

“ Bless you, child! You don’t disturb me, but I feel as 
bad as you do. I hope nothing bad has happened? ” 

“ I cannot answer you,” replied Bertha, as she shud- 
dered at the thought of the terrible thing she had read in 
the newspaper. “ There, I will not cry any more.” 

She rose from the sofa, and summoned all her strength 
to her aid ; she tried to recover her wonted self-possession, 
but the blow she had received was too heavy and too awful 
to be easily resisted. She picked up the newspaper from 
the floor, and put it in her pocket, that none of the family 
might read the terrible paragraph which had taken away 
her reason for the time. 

In her own bosom she locked up the fearful truth. She 
had no one to whom she dared to impart it. The reason 
why none of the children had come to the party was pain- 
fully apparent to her. The neighbors had read that stun- 
ning paragraph, and Woodville was no place for their chil- 
dren to visit after such a revelation. 

Poor Bertha tried to eat her supper, but she could not. 
The terrible secret was burning at her heart. She dared 
not utter it, lest the housekeeper and the steward, and even 
old Ben, should desert the family, as the neighbors had 
done. But Richard was her brother, and she must tell him. 
He was older than she was, and such a shock as this would 
electrify him. 

The secret seemed to gnaw at her soul, and she felt the 
need of a friend comforter, and Richard was the only one 
to whom she could muster courage to reveal it. After ris- 


Rich and Humble 


53 

ing from the supper table, where she had vainly tried to 
eat, she hastened down to the wharf, to meet her brother 
on his return. As she approached the pier, she saw the 
Greyhound coming around the island. In a few moments 
it was within hail of the wharf, when Bertha discovered, 
with intense alarm, that Richard was not at the helm. 

The boat was steered by Tom Mullen ; but, on its nearer 
approach, the poor girl perceived the form of her brother 
lying in the bottom. She uttered a scream of terror, for 
he appeared to be dead. 

“ Don’t be frightened, miss,” said Tom Mullen, as he 
brought the boat alongside the wharf. 

“ Is he dead? ” gasped Bertha. 

“ Oh, no, Miss Grant. Nothing of the kind. He took 
one glass more than he can carry, and it threw him,” 
laughed Tom. 

Richard was intoxicated ! It was scarcely better than 
dead ! 

CHAPTER VIII 


THE NEW OWNER OF W'OODVILLE 

Bertha w^as shocked and almost paralyzed when she 
realized the condition of her brother. It was dreadful to 
see a mere boy, only fifteen years of age, in a state of 
beastly intoxication, and that boy her only brother, he to 
whom she had looked for counsel #nnd encouragement in 
this hour of bitter trial. All her hopes seemed to be dis- 
sipated b} r this greatest calamity, and despair to be her 
only resort. 

Tom Mullen’s coarseness — for he alluded to the condi- 
tion of Richard as though it w r ere a matter of no conse- 
quence — grated harshly upon her feelings, and in a low 
tone she begged Ben, who had now come to her assistance, 
to send him off. The boatman and Tom bore Richard to 
the seat upon the pier, and then the former thanked the 
rowdy for what he had done for Mr. Richard, and proposed 
to take him back to Whitestone in one of the rowhoats. 
[Tom assented to the arrangement, and, much to the relief 


Rich and Humble 59 

of Bertha, he bade her good-night, and stepped into the 
boat, leaving her alone with the helpless boy. 

“ Too bad,” sighed Ben. “ Too bad for a fine boy like 
Mr. Richard to come home in such a situation as that.” 

“ That’s a fact, Ben. I told him he had got enough, 
and advised him not to take the last glass. I did all I 
could to keep him straight, so it is not my fault that he 
comes home drunk.” 

“ If he had never seen you, and the rest of the boys on 
the other side of the river, he might have been a decent 
boy.” 

“That is talking pretty close to the point !” replied 
Tom Mullen, sourly. 

“ Perhaps it is. Mr. Richard is a smart boy, and worth 
a dozen of the rowdies he goes with.” 

“ Maybe he is ; but, if he don’t want my company, I am 
sure I don’t want his. I can get along as well without 
him as he can without me. He wanted to race boats with 
me, and he did, and lost the race. I am five dollars bet- 
ter off for the affair than before, it is true, but I paid for 
all the liquor he drank.” 

“ Don’t say any more, Tom Mullen, or you will tempt 
me to throw you into the river ! ” 

“ But don’t you see I am not to blame? ” 

“ Silence! You have led this poor boy into all sorts of 
iniquity, and, if I thought you knew any better, I would 
take it out of your bones ! ” 

Tom Mullen was a boy of seventeen. His feelings were 
deeply injured by the plain speech of the old boatman, if 
a person of his stamp had feelings, and he was disposed to 
resent these home thrusts ; but he knew old Ben well enough 
not to attempt anything of the kind at present, and laid 
up his revenge for a more convenient season. 

Ben landed his dissolute passenger on the pier at White- 
stone, and hastened back to comfort Bertha, and attend to 
the besotted youth. On his return, he found the poor girl 
weeping over her brother. 


6o 


Rich and Humble 


“ This is terrible, Ben! ” sobbed she. “ To think that 
Richard should ever come to this ! ” 

“ It’s awful to see a man drunk, and I think the angels 
must weep to see a boy in such a state.” 

“ What shall we do? I don’t want to expose him to all 
the servants in the house.” 

“ Leave him to me, Miss Bertha. I will take good care 
of him, and not a soul shall see him till he is all right 
again. Go up to the house; go to bed, and sleep as 
though nothing had happened.” 

“ Thank you, Ben ; you are very kind to save my feel- 
ings, and Richard’s, too, for he will hide his head with 
shame when he realizes what he has done.” 

“ I hope he will ; and, bad as this thing is, it may be all 
for the best. It may be the very thing he needs to open 
his eyes and reform his life.” 

Bertha tried to hope that what the old man said might 
prove true, but just then there seemed to be no stability in 
anything human, and she could not help feeling that Rich- 
ard was ruined forever — that his life would be that of the 
miserable sot, and end in the drunkard’s grave. So many 
terrible events had suddenly been hurled upon her that she 
had begun to give way to the sense of gloom and despond- 
ency which the dark clouds of human ill often induce. 

With a repeated charge to Ben to see that Richard was 
•well cared for, she bade him good-night, and slowly walked 
up toward the house. She went to her chamber, and her 
prayers that night were longer and more earnest than 
usual, but they gave her hope and strength, for “ earth has 
no sorrow which Heaven cannot heal.” Exhausted by her 
physical exertions, as well as by her mental struggles, she 
soon wept herself to sleep. 

As soon as Bertha left the wharf, the boatman at once 
applied himself to the redeeming of his promise. Lifting 
the inebriated boy in his arms, he carried him to a shallow 
place by the bank of the river, and, having removed his 
clothing, he commenced a vigorous course of hydropathic 
treatment, which partially brought the patient to his 


Rich and Humble 


61 

senses. Richard thought is was rather rough, when he 
had so far recovered from his stupor to be able to compre- 
hend his situation, and he begged the doctor to desist ; but 
Ben persevered till he was satisfied he had done his work 
thoroughly. He then carefully rubbed him dry, and led 
him back to the boathouse, where he made a bed for him 
of sails and boat cushions. The patient was still too 
stupid to offer any objection, and dropped asleep almost as 
soon as he touched his bed. Ben slept by his side, faith- 
ful to the charge given him by his young mistress. 

The next morning Richard had entirely recovered from 
his debauch, with the exception of a severe headache. The 
vigorous treatment of the old boatman had, no doubt, been 
highly beneficial. At all events, he was sufficiently recov- 
ered to be heartily ashamed of himself, for he realized that 
he had been intoxicated, and had a faint recollection of the 
energetic operations of Ben. But I am sorry to add that 
his pride was more deeply wounded than his principle. 
He began to think of what people would say, rather than 
of the wrong he had done. The feeling that he had dis- 
graced himself and his family, rather than sinned against 
God and himself, took possession of his mind. 

He w’as soon called to a realizing sense of his conduct 
by the vigorous scolding which Ben gave him. The old 
man was as faithful in his admonition as though the boy 
had been his own son ; and Richard’s shame and mortifica- 
tion did not permit him to utter a word in his own defense. 
While he was undergoing this severe lecture, Bertha came 
down to inquire for his health. The boatman brought his 
address to an abrupt conclusion, and told Bertha what 
he had done, and that the patient was in as good condition 
as could be expected after such a time. 

“ Come up to the house with me, Richard,” said Bertha ; 
“ I want to talk with you.” 

“ I have had talk enough, and I don’t think any more 
would do me any good,” replied Richard ; but the remon- 
strance was very tame, for him, 

“ I will not reproach you for what you have done, Dick. 


62 


Rich and Humble 


I will leave that to your own conscience. I have something 
else to say to you.” 

“ I don’t want to go up to the house, and be laughed at 
by all the sei'vants. I feel more like clearing out some- 
where, and never seeing anybody that knows me again.” 

“ No one at the house knows anything about your con- 
duct.” 

Richard thought it was very considerate on the part of 
Ben and his sister to conceal his infirmity from others, and 
he felt grateful to them for sparing his pride. He walked 
up to the house with Bertha, and, after he had changed his 
clothes and eaten his breakfast, they met again in the 
library. 

Just before breakfast Mrs. Green had told him about 
the failure of Fanny’s party, and the fainting of Bertha. 
He was indignant at the slight upon the family, and pitied 
poor Bertha, who had taken it so sorely to heart. He 
reproached himself more than ever for his own conduct, 
and determined to make what reparation he could for it. 

“ I did not think our neighbors were so heartless be- 
fore,” said Richard, as he entered the library, where Bertha 
was waiting for him. “ It makes my blood boil to think 
of it.” 

“ I am not at all surprised at their conduct. Perhaps 
they kept their children at home from the best of motives, 
for they probably knew more of our affairs than we did 
ourselves,” replied Bertha, as she wiped away the tears 
from her eyes, which would come in spite of all her efforts 
to repress them. 

“ What do you mean by that, Bertha? ” 

“ Father is utterly ruined.” 

“ Well, he has failed, I suppose; but I ” 

ii Or, worse than that — as much worse than that as can 
be ! ” exclaimed Bertha. 

“ Why, what has happened? You had a letter from him 
yesterday, saying that he was alive and well.” 

“ I did ; but he did not tell us the whole truth.” 


Rich and Humble 63 

“Why, what do you mean, Bertha? What can have 
happened to him? ” 

“ He is not only ruined, but he is in prison.” 

“ In prison ! ” exclaimed Richard, shocked at these 
words. 

“ In the Tombs,” replied she, covering her face with 
her hands. “ I read it in the newspaper last night.” 

“ What has he done? ” demanded Richard, with quiver- 
ing lip. 

“ He was arrested on the charge of fraud — the paper 
says stupendous frauds in his business. I do not under- 
stand it, but I am sure, very sure, that father has not done 
anything wrong. I know he would not do it.” 

“ Certainly not,” added Richard, biting his lip till the 
blood ran. 

“ The newspaper says that he was arrested in an at- 
tempt to leave the country, which rendered his guilt all the 
more apparent ; but I do not believe it.” 

“ Nor I,” added Richard. 

“ Here is the paper ; you can read the paragraph, and 
perhaps you will understand it better than I do,” said 
Bertha, as she took the paper from her pocket. 

Richard read the article, and then read it again ; but the 
complicated transactions which it described were as much 
beyond his comprehension as they had been beyond his 
sister’s. The failure of an extensive English banking 
house had been the beginning of Mr. Grant’s misfortunes, 
and the alleged frauds were committed in attempting to 
sustain himself against the pressure caused by being de- 
prived of his foreign resources. But, my young readers 
would be as much in the dark as Richard and Bertha if I 
should attempt to explain the situation of Mr. Grant’s 
affairs. , It is enough to say that all the apparent wealth 
of the broker, immense as it had appeared to himself and 
to his neighbors, had suddenly been swept away, and that 
he was thrown into prison on the charge of fraud. 

Since the preceding evening Bertha had borne this heavy 
load upon her heart, made ten times heavier by the miscon- 


Rich and Humble 


64 

duct of her brother. The consciousness that she could do 
nothing to aid her father, or even to comfort him, was not 
the least of her troubles. Mr. Grant had concealed from 
his children the fact of his arrest and imprisonment, and 
she had given up her purpose to visit him in his prison, 
for it could only add to his grief, since he now supposed 
her to be ignorant of his real condition. 

Among other items in the paragraph, the newspaper 
said that Mr. Grant had secured his principal and most 
pressing creditor by making over to him his splendid estate 
on the Hudson, with all its furniture* appointments, boats, 
library — indeed, everything there was at Woodville. This 
statement was even more startling to Richard than the 
fact of his father’s arrest. All the worldly possessions of 
his father had passed away, almost in the twinkling of 
an eye. When he heard of the failure, he recalled the case 
of one of the neighbors, who, though a bankrupt, had 
retained his house and lands, and he had expected that his 
father Avould do the same. But now Woodville was gone; 
even the furniture in the house, the boats and the horses — 
all were to be given up, and the proud youth looked with 
disgust and contempt upon the poor cottage, or other 
humble abode, which his fancy pictured as the future resi- 
dence of the family. 

He was selfish, grossly selfish, in his pride and vanity, 
and he almost forgot the situation of his father in his 
mournings over the loss of the luxuries to which he had 
always been accustomed. Henceforth he was to be no bet- 
ter than the young men of Whitestone, who had regarded 
him with envy and admiration. 

While he and Bertha were considering, from widely dif- 
ferent points of view, the sad misfortune which had over- 
taken them, the man to whom Mr. Grant had transferred 
Woodville arrived to take possession of his property. As 
he was a money lender, and had no other god but his wealth, 
he was a hard man, rude and rough. Woodville would 
not pay him for the money he had lent its late owner, and 


Rich and Humble 65 

obtaining possession of the place did not appease the anger 
which the failure of Mr. Grant had occasioned. 

He was duly armed with all the necessary papers to 
make- his work legal, and he had no regard for the feelings 
of the children or the servants. He walked all over the 
house and grounds, with his followers, and gave orders to 
the servants for the disposal of the boat and the horses. 

“ Can we remain here ? ” asked Bertha, in timid and 
trembling tones, as the new owner, for the third time, 
rudely entered the library, where Bertha and Richard were 
still seated, followed by all his train. 

“How long do you want to stay?” demanded Mr. 
Grayle, the n^w proprietor, with an unfeeling stare at her 
and her brother. 

“ I don’t know ; till father comes home, I suppose,” an- 
swered Bertha, alarmed and indignant at the coarse man- 
ner of the man. 

“ That will be a long time, I rather think,” said Mr. 
Grayle. “ Haven’t you got any uncles, or aunts, or other 
friends, you could visit for a few weeks ? ” 

“ We have no relative but Uncle Obed, and he is in South 
America ; but we will not stay here, if you do not wish us 
to do so.” 

“ Well, I don’t want to be hard with you. I have a 
purchaser in view, who will take the estate as it stands. 
He will be here to-morrow ; but you can stay till I sell the 
place,” said Grayle.” 

“ Do you think he will buy it? ” asked Richard. 

“ I am reasonably sure that he will.” 

“ Then we must, indeed, leave Woodville,” groaned 
Richard. 

“ I shouldn’t think you would want to stay here, after 
what has happened,” sneered Grayle. “ But, if you want 
to stay, of course I shall not drive you out. As to your 
father’s coming home, don’t delude yourself on that point, 
young man. In my opinion, you won’t see him for some 
years, unless you go where he happens to be.” 


66 


Rich and Humble 


“ What do you mean by that? ” demanded Richard, his 
face crimson with shame. 

“ I suppose you know where Sing Sing is? If you call 
at the penitentiary there, in the course of a month or two, 
you will probably find him.” 

“You are an unfeeling brute!” gasped Richard, filled 
with rage at the words and the sneers of the money lender. 

“ You are a little too bad,” whispered one of the at- 
tendants of Grayle. 

“ I speak the truth. This young cub has "been living at 
my expense for some time. He is prouder than his father, 
and it is time for him to open his eyes. But I won’t be 
hard w r ith them. I shall lock up the parlors, the library 
and the dining-room. They may have the use of the 
kitchen and their own chambers. We will send the serv- 
ants off to-day. They may have their rooms and welcome, 
though I suppose they won’t thank me for them,” growled 
Grayle, as he left the library. 

Richard and Bertha were almost stunned by these words ; 
but they hastened from the library to their own chambers, 
to avoid further insult. 

CHAPTER IX 

BERTHA LEAVES WOODVILEE 

There was no longer any room, if there was any desire, 
to conceal the misfortunes which had overtaken the owner 
of Woodville. The servants were all talking about the 
matter, and the astounding intelligence that Mr. Grant had 
been sent to the Tombs for fraud was spreading in every 
direction. Before night the steward and the housekeeper, 
the boatman and the grooms — indeed, all who had held any 
position at Woodville — w r ere discharged. Not even Mrs. 
Green w r as allowed to remain, for Grayle feared that the 
affection of the late owmer’s employees might lead them 
to appropriate some of the property of their master. Per- 
haps his principal object was to drive the children from the 


Rich and Humble 67 

place. Whether it was or not, it had this effect, for they 
could not remain any longer in the deserted home. 

“ What shall we do? We can’t remain here any longer,” 
said Richard, as the three lonely children met together in 
the chamber of Bertha. “ There is not a servant left. in 
the house. For one, I cannot remain here any longer.” 

“ I feel that we are intruders ; but where shall we go? ” 
added Bertha. 

“ Anywhere — I care not where.” 

“ But we have no place to go. Our rich and proud 
neighbors will not receive us now.” 

“ If I knew they would, I wouldn’t darken their doors,” 
replied Richard, proudly. 

“ Nor I, after what they did yesterday,” added Fanny. 

“ I cannot stay here, to be watched and dogged by that 
man whom Grayle has left in charge of the place. If I 
move, he follows me, as though he were afraid I would steal 
something,” continued Richard, chafing under the new 
order of things. “ I will not remain under this roof a 
single hour longer.” 

“ Where shall we go ? ” 

“ We will go to the hotel over at Whitestone.” 

“ To the hotel? How can we go to the hotel? We have 
not money enough to pay for a single day’s board.” 

“ Yes, we have. I have over thirty dollars in my 
pocket.” 

“ Thirty dollars ? ” repeated Bertha, with an inquiring 
glance. 

“ Yes ; thirty-five, I think.” 

“ Oh, Richard ! ” sighed Bertha. 

“ Come, Berty, don’t reprove me any more; and, as I 
have no longer any reason for keeping it secret, I will tell 
you that I had fifty dollars. I saved the man on the 
steamer from drowning, and gave hiip the name of John 
Green.” 

Bertha was not disposed to criticise his conduct at this 
time, but she was rejoiced to know that he had so much 
money, and that he came honestly by it. She readily as- 


68 


Rich and Humble 


sented to the plan of going to the hotel in Whitestone, and 
hastily packed up her own and Fanny’s clothing in a trunk 
which belonged to her, as Richard had already done with 
his own wardrobe. 

The trunks were carried downstairs by Richard and 
Bertha, and placed upon the piazza. They were heavy, 
and their weight reminded the proud youth of the condi- 
tion to which he had fallen. He had never done such a 
thing as to carry his own trunk downstairs before. There 
were a dozen willing servants ready to do such work, but 
they had all been driven, like unclean beasts, from the 
premises. 

But some of them had not gone far. Old Ben, like a 
guardian angel, hovered around the house, in spite of the 
orders of the keeper to leave ; and no sooner were the trunks 
visible on the piazza than the boatman made his appear- 
ance. He had been up to Bertha’s room several times dur- 
ing the day, and had done what he could to comfort her ; 
but he was old and poor, and he had nothing to offer but 
words of hope and consolation. 

“ Are you going, Miss Bertha? ” he asked, as the chil- 
dren came out of the house. 

“Yes, Ben; we cannot stay here, where we are not 
wanted, any longer. We are going over to the hotel at 
Whitestone.” 

“ Then I will go with you ; and I am glad that you are 
going where I may have a chance to speak to you. These 
lubberly land sharks have been trying to drive me away 
from Woodville, but I shall not lose sight of the place while 
any of you remain. Dear me ! This is the saddest day I 
ever knew in my life ; but after a storm there’s always a 
calm. Keep a cheery heart, and it will all come out right 
in the end,” said Ben, as, with much difficulty, he should- 
ered the big trunk, and walked toward the wharf. 

“ Stop, there ! ” said a voice, in the direction of the 
stable. 

At this moment Noddy Newman came bounding over 
the lawn, closely pursued by the keeper of the estate. The 


Rich and Humble 


69 

little savage had been driven off the premises a dozen times 
during the day, but he had as many times returned, deter- 
mined not to desert Bertha in this hour of her extremity. 

“ Stop ! ” shouted the keeper. “ Put down that trunk ! ” 
and the man placed himself in front of Ben, who, followed 
by Bertha and Richard, with the smaller trunk, was head- 
ing the little procession down to the pier. 

“ What do you want? ” said Ben, gruffly, as he deposited 
the trunk upon the ground. 

“ I ordered you to leave these premises! ” 

“ And I am going to leave them now, once and for all,” 
replied Ben. “ The children are going with me.” 

“ You cannot carry off those trunks! ” 

“ I think we can, if our strength holds out. Here, 
Noddy, take hold of that trunk with Mr. Richard.” 

“ Stop, I say! You shall not carry those trunks off the 
place ! ” 

“ They contain nothing but our clothes,” interposed 
Bertha. 

“ I don’t know that,” said the keeper, v T ho w^as evidently 
a close imitator of his employer. 

“ I know it ; go ahead, Ben,” added Richard. 

“ I say you cannot carry off those trunks ! ” persisted 
the man. 

“ Can’t we have our owm clothes ? ” asked Bertha. 
“ There is nothing else in them.” 

“ Open them, and let me see ! ” added the man, roughly. 

“ I will not do it ! ” answered Richard, stoutly. “ I give 
my word that they contain nothing but our clothing.” 

“ What is your word good for, young man? You may 
open them, or carry them back to the house ! ” 

“ I will do neither ! Move on, Ben.” 

Ben attempted to take up the trunk again, but the man 
put his hands upon it in such a manner as to prevent him 
from doing so. 

“ You miserable land shark ! ” said Ben, letting go the 
trunk. “ You have all the law on your side, perhaps, but 
I have all the common sense and humanity on mine ! Aren’t 


Rich and Humble 


7 ° 

you ashamed of yourself, to persecute these poor children 
in this manner ? ” 

“ I only do my duty,” whined the keeper. 

“ I am going to take these things down to the pier, 
whether you are willing or not ! I am ready to shake 
hands or fight with you; but I am going to do what I 
say ! ” and Ben proceeded once more to shoulder the trunk. 

The keeper did not deem it prudent to interfere with him 
again, and perhaps he thought he was doing more than his 
duty required of him. The party reached the pier, and 
were on the point of putting the trunks into the four-oar 
barge, when the keeper again interposed, to prevent them 
from using the boat. This was plainly a part of Grayle’s 
property, and there could be no question in regard to the 
man’s right to interfere. He was inflexible, though Ben 
and Bertha both begged the use of the boat for a single 
hour. 

Noddy stood by, watching, with intense interest, the 
proceedings, and so indignant that he could no longer con- 
tain himself. He began to abuse the keeper in round terms, 
and, finding this did him no damage, he picked up a large 
stone, and would have thrown it, if Bertha had not com- 
manded him to drop it. and be silent. 

“ Why don’t you take the boat? ” said he. 

“ Because it is not right to take it.” 

“ Right ! Humph ! ” pouted Noddy. “ I would take it 
quick enough ! But hold on a minute, Miss Bertha, and I 
will get you a boat,” and away he ran down the bank of 
the river before she could stop him. 

In half an hour he returned in a boat, with Bob Bleeker, 
whom he had hailed from the point below. Bob was what 
would be called a “ rough ” in the city of New York, but 
he was a man of generous heart, and had many good 
qualities. As his boat rounded up by the side of the 
wharf, he stepped ashore, and offered his services to convey 
the party over to Whitestone, for Noddy had already told 
him, with a good deal of coloring, about the conduct of 
the keeper. 


Rich and Humble 


7 1 

He helped Ben put the trunks in' the boat and then 
handed Bertha and Fanny to their seats. The keeper 
stood b3 r , watching the movements of the party, and, when 
they were seated in the boat, and Bob was about to shove 
off, he uttered some insolent remarks. 

“ Stand by the boat hook a moment, Ben,” said Bob, as 
he jumped on the wharf again. 

“ What do 3’ou want now? ” said the keeper. “ Be off 
— quick as 3 t ou can ! ” 

“I can’t go till I have paid my respects to you ! ” re- 
plied Bob Bleecker. “ You are the meanest Hottentot 
that ever landed on this side of North River! Couldn’t 
you let these children have a boat to get out of your sight 
in ? ” 

“Begone! None of your insolence here! I have got 
rid of them now ! ” growled the keeper. 

“ But 3~ou haven’t got rid of me just yet! I want to 
leave 3 T ou my card ! There it is ! ’’ he a<jdcd, striking the 
brutal wretch in the face with such force that the blow 
knocked him down. “ I know how you’ve treated these 
children ; I have heard all about it ; and I couldn’t leave 
you without something to remember me by. My name is 
Bob Bleeker, of Whitestone, and, if you want to meet me in 
a court of justice, I shall be willing to pay ten dollars or 
so for the sake of showing up such a villain as you are ! ” 

The keeper picked himself up, and retreated from the 
spot, muttering vengeance upon the head of the chivalrous 
“ rough.” , 

Bob Bleeker did wrong to strike the keeper, however 
much the fellow deserved a whipping for his brutality. 
Noddy stood b3 r , and witnessed the castigation, with a 
satisfaction that he expressed in the most extravagant 
manner. Bertha alone condemned the conduct of Bob ; 
but she gave him credit for his good will, 
f The boat was pushed off, and in a few moments the 
fresh breeze carried them over to Whitestone. Bob and 
Ben combed the trunks up to the hotel, where they ob- 
tained two rooms. The3 r were not such as the children had 


Rich and Humble 


72 

occupied at Woodville, but they were cheerful and com- 
fortable. At an early hour Fanny, worn out by the ex- 
citing events of the day, retired to rest, leaving Richard 
and Bertha to consider some plan for the future. 

Strange as it may seem, Bertha experienced a feeling of 
relief when she found herself domiciled at the hotel. She 
had left Woodville — had been almost driven from it; had 
been insulted and outraged in her feelings ; but the tie 
which bound her to the home of her childhood had been 
snapped. There had been none of the sighs and tears with 
which she had expected to bid farewell to Woodville; she 
and her brother and sister had been too glad to get away 
from it. She felt stronger and more hopeful than she had 
since the first note of disaster had sounded in her ears. 

However dark and forbidding the future might look, she 
was ready to meet it, for it seemed as though all of grief 
and misfortune that the world could have in store had al- 
ready been hurled upon her afflicted family. 

“ What are we to do, Richard? ” said she, as she joined 
him in his room. 

“ I don’t know,” replied he, blankly ; “ I have not 
thought of that yet.” 

“ It is time to think of it.” 

“ What can we do ? ” 

“ There are a hundred things that we can do. You are 
strong and healthy, and have been well educated. Per- 
haps you can find a place.” 

“ A place? A place for what? ” said Richard, looking 
curiously into the face of his sister. 

“ A place to work, of course,” answered she, with no 
attempt to soften the words. 

“ A place to work ! ” repeated he, slowly, as if to obtain 
the full force of the idea. “ What do you suppose I can 
do?” 

<( You can get a place to learn a trade, or you can go 
into a store.” 

“ Get a place to learn a trade ! ” exclaimed Richard, 
rising suddenly from his chair, and walking up and down 


Rich and Humble 73 

the room. “ Don’t you think the only son of Franklin 
Grant would look very pretty learning a trade? Don’t 
mention such a thing as that to me again ! ” 

“ Why, Richard, I am surprised to find that experience 
has taught you nothing,” replied Bertha. “ You surely 
do not expect to be a gentleman, now that there is not a 
dollar of all your father’s wealth left? ” 

“ I intend to be a gentleman as long as I live.” 

“ But you must work.” 

“ I have money.” 

“ Thirty-five dollars ! How long do you suppose it will 
last? It will not pay our board for more than two or 
three weeks.” 

“ Perhaps I can do something that is light and genteel. 
At any rate, I will see what can be done to-morrow ; but I 
shall not learn any trade, I’ll warrant you.” 

“ You must conquer your pride, Richard, and remember 
that we are beggars now.” 

“ Perhaps we are. I wonder when Uncle Obed is com- 
ing from Valparaiso? He is immensely rich.” 

“ I don’t know; we might starve before we heard from 
him.” 

“ Starve ? Pooh ! What is the use of talking about 
such things ! ” 

“ We had better look things right in the face. I don’t 
think you have considered our situation. We have neither 
money nor friends. We must work for a living, unless 
you are willing to go to the almshouse and live on charity. 
I am not, and I intend to go to work.” 

“ What are you going to do, Berty ? ” asked he, with 
an incredulous smile. 

“ I don’t know yet ; I am going to work.” 

“ Don’t disgrace yourself and your family, Berty.” 

“ What nonsense you talk, Richard ! We are beggars 
and outcasts, and it is all folly to talk about disgracing 
myself or the family. I shall find something to do in a 
few days. I wish I could see father. He would tell me 
what to do.” 


74 Rich and Humble 

Richard’s pride could not yet be conquered, and Bertha 
retired, feeling that the rude hand of necessity would soon 
make hard terms with them. But, with such views as he 
held, it M as not safe to remain at a hotel, and she resolved 
to find a cheaper residence the next day. 

CHAPTER X 

BERTHA VISITS THE WIDOW LAMB 

On the following morning Bertha, who, in spite of her 
cares and trials, had slept well, rose early, and applied her- 
self, with zeal and energy, to the great work before her — 

' a work so difficult and delicate that it would have chal- 
lenged the whole ability of a mature and experienced mind. 
Her patlnvay mtis full of trials and perplexities, for she 
had but little knoMledge of the world, and M as M’ithout the 
aid of influential friends. 

There were two very difficult problems, which required 
an immediate solution. The first was, what to do with 
Fanny ; and the second, whether Richard Mould be a help 
or a hindrance to her. If there had been no one but her- 
self to provide for, the task M'ould have been an easy one. 
Fanny was too young to do anything for herself, and Rich- 
ard’s pride was a stumbling-block in his path. The thirty- 
five dollars in her brother’s possession was but a small sum 
to pay the expenses of a family ; but she Mas not sure that 
even this M r ould be devoted to the purpose. 

Pier father was languishing in prison. He was suffer- 
ing for himself and suffering for them, for she kneM r that 
his greatest grief would be the thought of his children, now 
cast, penniless and unprotected, upon the cold world. She 
wanted to do something for him, and she Mould gladly 
have gone to his prison, and shared its gloom and its hor- 
rors with him, if she could take the weight of one straw 
from the heavy burden he was compelled to bear. But the 
nearer and more pressing duties of the hour would not 
permit her to yield even this filial offering till she had done 
something to prepare for the cold and forbidding future. 
,» These M^ere some of the perplexities ; but the perils and 


Rich and Humble 


75 

difficulties that surrounded her seemed to give her new 
strength and new courage. The words of the Scripture, 
“ As thy day, so shall thy strength be,” as embodied in 
a beautiful and comforting poem by Mrs. Sigourney, ling- 
ered encouragingly in her mind, to sweeten the cup of ad- 
versity and nerve her soul for the conflict of the day. On 
this morning, therefore, she was calm and resolute, and 
looked hopefully forward to what the day might bring 
forth. 

Her first care was for Fanny, and she had already de- 
cided what disposition to make of her. She intended, with 
the assistance of Ben, to find a place in some poor but re- 
spectable family, where she could be boarded for a small 
sum. Bertha hoped that before many weeks the family 
might be united again under one roof, however humble; 
and this arrangement was to be only a temporary one. 

While Richard and Fanny were still sleeping, she looked 
out of her window, and saw the old boatman walking up 
and down in front of the house. He had lodged with Bob 
Bleeker; but, very much as a faithful watchdog keeps 
guard over the property of his master, he kept his eyes 
upon the children, without being forward, or intruding 
upon them at unseemly hours. Bertha passed through the 
silent halls of the hotel and joined the boatman upon the 
piazza, where she informed him of her plan in regard to 
Fanny. 

“ Now. Ben, can you help me find a good place where 
she can be boarded for a small sum? For, you know, we 
cannot afford to pay much.” 

“ I know a poor widow woman, with whom I used to 
board myself, years ago ; but the place would not suit Miss 
Fanny. It wouldn’t be stylish enough.” 

“ No matter for that, Ben. It will come hard to her, 
but she must learn to live as poor folks live. Is she a good 
woman ? ” 

“ There isn’t a better on the face of the earth. She 
took care of me when I was laid up with the rheumatism. 
Mrs. Lamb is a Christian woman, if there is one in this 


Rich and Humble 


7 6 

world,” said Ben, with emphasis ; “and, if I had a daugh- 
ter, I don’t know another person with whom I would more 
willingly trust her.” 

“ Do you think Mrs. Lamb would be willing to take 
Fanny ? ” 

“ I think she would ; only I am afraid Miss Fanny would 
give her a great deal of trouble. You know, she has very 
fine notions, and Mrs. Lamb’s house isn’t a bit like Wood- 
ville.” 

“Of course not; but Fanny may as well begin first as 
last to learn her lesson. I am sorry for her, poor child ; 
I pity her, for I know it is a terrible blow to her to be de- 
prived of the nice things she had at home.” 

“ It is no worse for her than it is for you, Miss Bertha,” 
added Ben, with a smile. 

“ I never cared so much for fine things as Richard and 
Fanny. It is no credit to me, for I suppose I was born so.” 

“ Yes, Miss Bertha, one who has been rich and humble 
can be humble enough in poverty, but pride and want don’t 
go well together.” 

“ Where does Mrs. Lamb live ? ” 

“ About half a mile from here, just outside of the vil- 
lage. She has a very pretty cottage, which her husband 
left her when he died; but that is all she has, and she is 
obliged to work pretty hard for a living. She does wash- 
ing and ironing for the rich people of the place, and she 
has as many friends as a member of congress. We will 
walk over to the widow’s house, if you please, Miss Bertha. 
If you will walk along, I will follow you.” 

“ Come with me, Ben,” said Bertha, with a smile, as she 
took hold of his arm, and led him along for a few paces. 

“ I didn’t know as you Avould like to walk with a rough- 
looking man like me,” added Ben, as he dashed away a 
truant* tear, which his pride and his affection had jointly 
contributed to form. 

“ I am not pi'oud, Ben.” 

“ You never were, Miss Bertha.” 


Rich and Humble 


77 

“ What are you going to do, Ben? I have been so sel- 
fish that I have hardly thought of you.” 

“ Oh, I shall do very well, Miss Bertha,” answered Ben, 
with a smile of pleasure at this manifestation of interest 
on the part of his master’s daughter. 

“ I had hoped you would always remain in our family ; 
and it hurts my feelings to see you now, an old man, and 
rather infirm, thrown upon the world to take care of your- 
self.” 

“ Don’t think of me. I have my plans all formed.” 

“ My father never gave you large wages, for I know 
he meant to take care of you as long as you lived. I sup- 
pose you haven’t saved much ? ” 

“ Hardly anything, Miss Bertha. I sent all the money 
I could spare to my daughter, out West, after her husband 
died. I don’t know how she will get along now. But I 
can manage to make some money. I have a matter of a 
hundred dollars or so salted down in the savings bank in 
Whitestone for a rainy day.” 

“ That will not support you.” 

“No; I bargained for a boat, last night, with Bob 
Bleeker, and was to have given him this hundred dollars in 
part pay, but I ” 

The old man suspended his speech at this point, and 
walked along, with his eyes fixed on the ground, while the 
long breaths he drew indicated the emotion that agitated 
his bosom. 

“ What, Ben ? ” gently asked Bertha. 

“ I didn’t dare to pay away this money.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Since you were driven out of Woodville, I have thought 
this hundred dollars might be of some help to you.” 

“ To me ! ” exclaimed Bertha. “ I could not think of 
touching your money. Besides, we shall not need it. Rich- 
ard has some money, and we shall get along very well. 
Keep it, Ben, for you will need it yourself.” 

“It is all at your service, Miss Bertha. It is little I 
can offer, but you are welcome to it.” 

d6 


Rich and Humble 


7 8 

“ We shall not need it, Ben — really, we shall not.” 

“ Then, perhaps, I had better buy the boat. I am go- 
ing boating. There are plenty of people and parties in 
Whitestone who like to sail on the river; and, since Bob 
Bleeker gave up the business, there has been no regular 
boatman. I think I can do very well.” 

“ I hope so, I am sure, Ben,” replied Bertha, heartily. 
“ I am rejoiced to find you have something to do that will 
suit your taste.” 

“ I shall do very well, Miss Bertha. No one need worry 
about old Ben, as long as he has the use of his limbs. 
There is one thing more, Miss Bertha, which, I suppose, 
you have not thought about. What is to become of Noddy 
Newman? ” 

“ Poor little fellow ! ” sighed Bertha. “ I suppose I 
can do nothing more for him. Where is he now?” 

“ He slept with me at Bob Bleeker’s last night. I sup- 
pose he will take to the woods, and become a vagabond 
again, if he can’t stay with you. He don’t seem to care 
for anybody on earth, Miss Bertha, but you, though he 
•will mind me, for your sake. I believe the little fellow 
would die for you in a moment.” 

“ Poor Noddy!” said Bertha. “I w’ish I could take 
care of him ! He is a smart boy. I have taught him to 
read, and I had great hopes that I should make something 
of him.” 

“ I have been thinking, Miss Bertha,” added Ben, tak- 
ing off his hat, and scratching his bald head, as though a 
magnificent idea had taken possession of his mind, “ if you 
could induce the boy to stay with me, I will do as w r ell by 
him as I can. I can read, and write, and cipher, and I will 
help him along with these things. He is smart and active, 
and having him with me in the boat would ease my old 
bones a great deal.” 

Bertha was delighted with this plan, and readily prom- 
ised to do all she could to make Noddy stay with Ben. At 
this point in the conversation they arrived at the house of 
the Widow Lamb. The cottage, as the boatman had rep- 


Rich and Humble 


79 

resented, was very neat, and even pretty, and Bertha 
thought her sister ought to be happy in such a place., 

Mrs. Lamb was willing to take Fanny to board, for she 
was very fond of children, but Bertha frankly told her 
that the little miss might cause her a great deal of trouble, 
for she had been used to having a great many servants 
around her. The widow thought she could manage her; 
at any rate, she would try it, and she hoped she should be 
able to make her happy and contented. Bertha thought 
her price — two dollars a week — was very reasonable for 
one who was likely to be so difficult to please, and she took 
her leave of the laundress, agreeing to bring Fanny to 
her new home in the course of the day. 

On their return to the hotel, Ben hastened back to Bob 
Bleeker’s, to close the bargain for the boat, while Bertha 
went upstairs to announce the new arrangement to Fanny 
and Richard. The farmer had not yet risen, and as 
Bertha assisted in dressing her she told her what had been 
done. 

“ Then I am to live with a washerwoman ! ” said Miss 
Fanny, with a toss of her head. 

“ It is a very pretty cottage, and Mrs. Lamb is a very 
nice woman. You will be quite happy and contented there, 
if you are willing to be so anywhere that our small means 
will permit you to live.” 

“ But only to think of it ! Live with a washerwoman ! ” 

“ Fanny, we are all beggars now. We are poorer than 
Mrs. Lamb, with whom you will board. Beggars cannot 
be choosers, you know.” 

“ Father will find me a better place than that.” 

“ Father can do nothing for us now, if he ever can,” 
replied Bertha, the tears filling her eyes. “ He is in 
prison, and you ought to be thankful that you have a home 
at all.” 

The tears in the eyes of her sister touched the heart of 
Fanny. Her pride was the greatest defect of her charac- 
ter. She had never known much of a mother’s care; if 
she had, she might have been a different person.” 


8o 


Rich and Humble 

“ What are you going to do, Bertha? ” asked Fanny. 

“ I am going to work. I shall find a place where I can 
earn money enough to pay your board. I hope Richard 
will help me.” 

“ Of course he will.” 

“ Now, if you will go to your new place, and never com- 
plain of anything, nor cause Mrs. Lamb any trouble, you 
will do all I can expect of you.” 

“ I will do the best I can.” 

“ That is all I ask.” * 

Bertha spent an hour in talking to her sister about her 
conduct in her new home; and Fanny, who seemed to be in 
a better frame of mind than ever before, listened atten- 
tively to all she said, and promised faithfully to conquer 
her pride and give Mrs. Lamb no trouble. She said she 
would wait upon herself, and never complain of her food 
or her apartment. Bertha regarded this as a triumph, for 
she felt that Fanny would try to do all she promised. 

Richard turned up his nose at the idea of having his 
sister board with a washerwoman ; but, as neither his figures 
nor his common sense would suggest a better plan, he was 
compelled to yield. 

“ Now, Richard, you must let me have some of your 
money, for, to guard against any accident, I wish to pay 
Fanny’s board for two or three months in advance.” 

“ I can’t spare any money now. What’s the use of pay- 
ing her board before it is due? ” 

“ We do not know what may happen. You and I can 
take care of ourselves and I think it is no more than right 
that we should provide for Fanny beyond the chance of an 
accident.” 

“ But we must pay our own board.” 

“ Of course, we cannot remain at this hotel.” 

“ Certainly we can, at least for a time.” 

“ What do you intend to do, Richard, for a living? ” 

“ I don’t know. I shall find something. How much 
money do you want ? ” 


Rich and Humble 


(i You had better give me ten dollars. That will pay; 
Fanny’s board for five weeks.” 

“ Ten dollars ! Why, that is a third of all I have ! ” re- 
plied Richard, dismayed at the prospect of parting with 
so much of his funds. 

Bertha had a double motive in asking for this large 
proportion of Richard’s money. The first was to secure 
the payment of Fanny’s board, in case her plans for the 
future should fail, and the second Avas that she had but 
little confidence in her brother’s firmness. She feared that, 
while his money lasted, he Avould do nothing to help him- 
self ; that, while his pride had even thirty-five dollars for 
a foundation, he would spend his time in idleness, and per- 
haps do worse. 

Actuated by these motives, she reasoned with him so 
forcibly and eloquently that he at last handed her the 
money, but he gave it up with a protest, and with many 
regrets. After breakfast the bill at the hotel was paid, 
and Fanny was taken to her new home. Bertha remained 
with her that day, putting her room and her wardrobe in 
order, and instructing her still further in the duties and 
relations of her new position. 

Notwithstanding the odium of boarding with a washer- 
woman, Fanny liked the place \ r ery well and even thought 
she should be contented with Mrs. Lamb, who certainly did 
everything she could to smooth down the fall from the 
palace to the cottage. 

During the day Ben and Noddy paid them a visit. The 
little savage seemed to take quite a sensible view of the new 
order of things, and when Bertha told him what had been 
done for him he agreed to remain with Ben, and be a good 
boy, if she would come and see him as often as she could. 

Toward night Bertha returned to the hotel, where she 
found a letter from Richard. 


82 


Rich and Humble 


CHAPTER XI 

MASTER CHARLEY BYRON 

Bertha was not a little startled when the clerk of the 
hotel handed her the letter, upon which she recognized the 
handwriting of her brother. It was ominous of disaster ; 
at least, it suggested that Richard was not at hand to 
speak for himself, and she feared that his quick impulses 
had led him to take a step of which he had not, probably, 
considered the consequences. It required some courage to 
open a letter from him under such circumstances, and she 
held it in her hand for some moments before she could mus- 
ter resolution enough to break the seal ; and, when she did 
so, her worst fears were confirmed.. 

Richard wrote that he had been engaged by a gentleman 
to take his boat down to New York. He was to receive 
five dollars for the job, and, as it admitted of no delay, 
lie had been obliged to sail at once, without seeing her. 
At the close of the epistle, Richard boasted a little of his 
first success in earning money, and declared that, when he 
got to the city, he should certainly find employment which 
would be both agreeable and profitable ; and, when lie did, 
lie would inform her of the fact. 

The thoughtless, impulsive boy had actually abandoned 
his sister, and, full of hope and conceit, had embarked in v 
his career of life. Perhaps he thought Bertha was abun- 
dantly able to take care of herself, and did not need any 
assistance from him. 

Bertha’s doubts and fears were not for herself. She 
knew that Richard was thoughtless and flighty, and she 
trembled lest he should again fall into evil company. The 
city would have been a bad place for him, under any cir- 
cumstances, but doubly so if he had no one to give him a 
friendly word of advice. He had gone, and, whatever she 
thought or felt in regard to him, nothing could be done to 
bring him back. She was now alone. The family had 


Rich and Humble 83 

separated, and the path of each seemed to be in a different 
direction from that of the others. 

She could not think of her situation without a feeling of 
sadness. A sense of loneliness, which she had not before 
experienced, came over her, which, with her anxiety for 
the fate of her father and her brother, had a very depress- 
ing influence upon her. But she had no time to indulge 
in sentimental emotions, for life had suddenly become real 
to her, and stern necessity compelled her to make it earnest* 

As she had now disposed of Fanny, and Richard had dis- 
posed of himself, she had nothing to do but to apply her- 
self to the remaining duty of the hour. She must go to 
work ; but what to do, and where to find a place, were very 
perplexing questions. She was willing to do anything 
that she could, even to labor with her hands, if it would 
afford her the means of supporting herself and her sister. 

With these thoughts in her mind, she walked through 
the principal street of Whitestone, to obtain any sugges- 
tion which the stores and other business places might give 
her. In her walks through the place, in more prosperous 
days, she had occasionally seen a notice posted in the win- 
dows of a “ Saleswoman Wanted,” or “ A Young Lady to 
Act as Cashier.” She walked up the street on one side and 
down on the other, attentively examining every window 
and door, in search of such a notice. But Whitestone, at 
the present time, did not need a saleswoman or a cashier* 
Disappointed and disheartened by her ill success, she 
walked down to the river, not from any motive, but be- 
cause she had nowhere else to go. 

Now for the first time since she had read her brother’s 
letter, the thought came to her with fearful force that she 
had less than half a dollar in the world. This was not 
enough to pay for her lodging at the hotel, and she had 
not been to supper. Poverty seemed more terrible to her 
now than ever before. She began to feel that her situation 
was not only trying, but absolutely appalling. Even hun- 
ger and cold threatened to assail her, for the little money; 
she had would not supply the necessities of life for even 


84 Rich and Humble 

a single day. She could not dig, and she was ashamed 
to beg. 

It was now growing dark, and she could not with safety 
remain in the streets any longer. There was only one 
house in the vicinity at which she believed she should be 
welcome, and this was the house of the Widow Lamb. It 
was revolting to her pride to force herself, as it were, upon 
a stranger ; but she could not go to the hotel, and there 
was no other way to do. It was after the supper hour, 
and on her way through the village she stopped at a res- 
taurant, and had a very simple supper of tea and bread 
and butter ; but even this was purchased with a large part 
of all her worldly wealth. 

Mrs. Lamb welcomed her to her humble cottage, and 
she passed the night with Fanny. But the future looked 
so blank and dismal to poor Bertha that she was less cheer- 
ful than usual, though she tried to conceal her doubts and 
fears from the widow and from her sister. Fanny had a 
thousand questions to ask, to only a few of which Bertha 
could give satisfactory answers. 

“ Have you got a place to work yet? 99 was asked a 
dozen times by the inquisitive little girl. 

“ I have not,” answered Bertha, sadly ; “ and I am 
afraid I shall not be able to find one in Whitestone.” 

“ What will you do? ” 

“ I must go to the city, I suppose.” 

“ Then you will see father.” 

“ I shall certainly try to see him.” 

“ You will tell him that I am a good girl — won’t you? ” 

66 1 will, Fanny, and I am afraid that will be the best 
news I shall have for him.” 

“ Tell him, too, that I am very sorry he is in prison, and 
I would do anything to get him out.” 

“ I will, Fanny,” replied Bertha, as she threw her arms 
around her neck and kissed her. “ You have been a good 
girl to-day, and Mrs. Lamb says you have not only given 
her no trouble, but that you have helped her a great deal 
about her work.” 


Rich and Humble 85 

“ I tried to be good, Bertha,” said Fanny. “ I haven’t 
complained a bit.” 

“ I hope you never will.” 

“ But I don’t want you to go off and leave me.” 

“ I must go, Fanny ; but one of these days we shall meet 
again, and be all the happier for the trials and sorrow 
which we have been called upon to endure.” 

“ I hope we shall,” replied Fanny, whose conduct during 
the first day of her residence at the cottage had been very 
hopeful. 

Fanny turned over and went to sleep after she had been 
duly praised and encouraged for her excellent demeanor. 
But Bertha’s cup was too full to permit her to sleep. The 
morrow’s sun promised to dawn upon a day of greater 
trial and difficulty than she had yet known. Twenty 
cents was all the money she had in the world, and White- 
stone had no employment to give her. She must go to 
New York ; but how to get there was beyond her compre- 
hension. The distance was twenty-five miles, and she had 
not the means to pay her fare by railroad or steamboat. 

The thought of borrowing a few dollars occurred to her ; 
but there was no one, except the old boatman, of whom 
she would dare ask such a favor. Her pride — that self- 
respect which gives dignity and nobility to the character 
— revolted at the idea of asking even him for money, which 
she might never be able to pay. But while she was per- 
plexed and agitated by these difficult problems, nature 
kindly came to her aid, and she dropped asleep without any 
plan for the coming day. 

She was going to leave the cottage at an early hour the 
next morning, but Mrs. Lamb pressed her to remain until 
after breakfast ; and then, with many tears, she bade fare- 
well to her sister, not daring to believe that they would 
soon meet again. Bertha was stronger and more cour- 
ageous than she had been on the preceding evening; for 
the more we look trials and troubles in the face, the more 
familiar we become with them and the less terrible do they 
seem to us. 


86 


Rich and Humble 


With a feeling that she had only half done her work the 
night before, she again walked through the main street, 
and even had the hardihood to enter several of the larger 
stores and apply for a situation. Although she had no 
better success than before, she was strengthened by the 
consciousness that she had permitted no false pride to come 
between her and the attainment of her purpose. She had 
done all she could do in Whitestone, and it would be of 
no avail to remain there any longer. 

Then came up the question again, how should she get 
to the city ; for she had fully determined to go there. She 
could not walk, and she could not pay her fare. Why 
should she not walk, she asked herself. She was healthy 
and strong, and had always been accustomed to a great 
deal of outdoor exercise. There were no impossibilities to 
one in her situation, and whatever the result she would be 
no worse off on the way than if she remained in Whitestone, 
She decided at once to start, and leave the issue in the 
hands of that kind Providence which never permits the true 
and the good to be utterly cast down. 

She would not think of leaving Whitestone without say- 
ing good-by to Ben and Noddy ; and for this purpose she 
went down to the wharf, where the boatman had the day 
before commenced business with his new boat. Much to 
her regret, she found they had gone up the river with a 
party of gentlemen, and would not return till late in the 
evening. Disappointed at this intelligence, she went to 
the hotel, where she had left her trunk, and wrote a short 
note to Ben, informing him of her intention. The clerk 
kindly promised to take care of her trunk till she sent for 
it, and she turned from the house to commence her weary 
pilgrimage. 

Following the road near the bank of the river, she 
walked patiently and perseveringly for three hours, till she 
heard a clock on a church strike twelve. She was so faint 
and weary that she could walk no further, and seated her- 
self under a tree by the side of the river to rest herself* 


Rich and Humble 


8 7 

She had retired a short distance from the road, so that she 
need not be subject to the rude gaze of those who passed. 

In the last village through which she passed she had 
bought three small rolls ; and upon these she made her 
dinner. A few blackberries that grew in the field were a 
great addition to the feast. Refreshed by her meal, and 
by an hour of rest, she resumed her walk. She had gone 
but a short distance before her attention was attracted by 
the loud cries of a child in a pasture adjoining the high- 
way. The screams were so piteous that she could not help 
getting through the fence and hastening to the spot from 
whence they came, where she found a little boy, very 
prettily dressed, and evidently the child of wealthy par- 
ents, sitting on a stone. His eyes were red and swollen 
with weeping, and he was sobbing and moaning as though 
he had some real cause of grief. He was apparently about 
six years old. Bertha, moved by his distress, took him 
tenderly by the hand and gently patted his head, to assure 
him she was his friend. 

“ What is the matter, little boy ? ” she asked, when she 
had fully convinced him that she was not an evil spirit sent 
to torment him. 

“ I don’t know the way home,” blubbered the little fel- 
low. 

“ Don’t cry any more, and I think we can find your 
home. What is your name? ” 

“ Charley.” 

“ Haven’t you got another name? ” 

“ Charley Byron. I am six years old last May,” re- 
plied Charley, suddenly brightening up and wiping away 
the great tears that still lingered on his cheek. 

“ You are a nice little fellow, and your education has 
not been neglected, I see.” 

“ I can spell cat ; c-a-t, cat,” continued Charley, who ap- 
peared to have forgotten all his sorrows. 

“ You spelled it right,” said Bertha, with a smile. “ Do 
you know where your father lives? ” 


88 


Rich and Humble 


“ My father lives in a great house on the hill ; and I 
guess Mary’ll catch it for letting me get lost.” 

“ Where is Mary now? ” 

“ I don’t know where she is. She sat down on a rock 
and went to sleep. I was looking for blackberries, and 
when I wanted to find Mary again I couldn’t. I have been 
walking ever so long, and I can’t find Mary,” said Charley, 
beginning to look very sad again. 

“ Don’t cry any more, and I will help you find your 
father’s house.” 

Bertha remembered that she had passed a large house on 
a hill, only a short distance back, and taking Charley’s 
hand, she led him to the road. 

It was a hard walk for little Charley, for he was so 
tired he could hardly move at all ; but Bertha assisted him 
as much as she could, and at last they came to the gate- 
way of the great house. 

“ That’s my father’s house,” said Charley, just before 
they reached the gate. 

“You can find your way now — can’t you?” asked 
Bertha. 

“ Yes, but I want you to come up and see my mother.” 

“ I think I will not go any further.” 

“ Yes, but I want you to come up and see my mother ; 
and you must come.” 

“ I am very tired, Charley — almost as tired as you are 
— and I do not feel like walking up the hill.” 

“ You can rest in my house.” 

“ I think I will not go up, Charlej'.” 

“ But you must come. I can’t find the way if you 
don’t,” said Charley, tugging at Bertha’s hand with a zeal 
which would permit no denial. 

“ If I must I must,” said Bertha, yielding the point. 

“ I want to show you my new rocking-horse. Father 
sent it up yesterday, and it is a real nice one.” 

Charley led the way up to the front door of the house 
and pulled Bertha in after him. His mother, who had 
been terribly worried at his long absence, greeted him in 


Rich and Humble 89 

the entry with a kiss, and asked him where the nurse was. 
Charley told his story in his childish way, and it was 
fully confirmed by the presence of Bertha, who was warmly 
welcomed by the grateful lady. 

“ Mary is growing very remiss of late, and I must dis- 
charge her,” said Mrs. Byron, when they were seated in 
the sitting-room. “ It isn’t safe to trust Charley with 
her. The dear little fellow may get into the river. I 
have been worrying this half hour about him.” 

“ He w r as crying bitterly when I found him,” added 
Bertha. 

“ It was very good of you to take so much trouble.” 

“ I couldn’t leave him while he was so full of grief.” 

While they were talking the delinquent nurse arrived, 
very much alarmed at the sudden disappearance of her 
charge. But when she saw Charley she was greatly re- 
lieved, and invented a very plausible story to account for 
the accident. The story disproved itself, without any help 
from Charley or Bertha ; and the result was that her mis- 
tress, provoked by her falsehood as much as by her neglect, 
promptly discharged her. 

While Mrs. Byron was paying the girl, Charley ex- 
hibited his new rocking-horse and other treasures; but 
Bertha w r as absorbed by a new idea ; she did not pay much 
attention to his prattle. 

CHAPTER XII 

BERTHA BECOMES A GOVERNESS 

“ There,” said Mrs. Byron, as she joined her little son 
on the piazza, when the nurse had gone, “ that is the fourth 
person I have had to take care of Charley. Now she is 
gone, and I don’t know where I shall get another. It is 
not every person that I am willing to tru§t to take care of 
my little boy.” 

“ It must be very trying to you,” added Bertha, 
thoughtfully. 

“ I paid her ten dollars a month for her services ; but 


Rich and Humble 


90 

I tremble to think of the dangers which Charley has es- 
caped while in the care of these negligent servants.” 

“ J suppose you would think I am too young to take 
care of Charley? ” said Bertha, while her cheek crimsoned 
and her heart seemed to rise up into her throat. 

“ You ! ” exclaimed the lady, with a smile, as she glanced 
at Bertha from head to foot. 

“Yes, madam; if you could give me twelve dollars a 
month, I should like to obtain the situation of governess 
of the child. I have had some experience in teaching chil- 
dren.” 

“ You astonish me, miss. I do not even know your 
name yet.” 

“ Bertha ” She was about to give her whole name 

but the thought suddenly occurred to her that, if she did 
so, her application would at once be rejected; and, with- 
out stopping to consider whether it was right or wrong to 
give a false name, she added : “ Bertha Loring.” 

No sooner had she given this name than she regretted 
it ; but conscious that she had no evil intention in doing so, 
she did not attempt to correct the error. 

“ Bertha Loring,” added Mrs. Byron. “ How old are 
you?” 

“ I am nearly fourteen.” 

“ But you said you had had some experience in teaching 
children,” said the lady, rather incredulously. 

“ Yes, ma’am. It was in a kind of mission school, and 
it was voluntary teaching.” 

“ Ah, that, indeed,” mused Mrs. Byron. “ You are 
rather young, especially for the salary you ask.” 

“ I have a sister who is dependent upon me for sup- 
port, and I must do something by which I can earn about 
three dollars a week.” 

“ Have you any testimonials of character or ability? ” 

“ None, ma’am ; I have never been in any situation yet.’* 

“ It would hardly be proper for me to place my only 
child in the cate of a total stranger.” 

“ Very true, ma’am,” sighed Bertha ; “ but I have none.” 


Rich and Humble 91 

“ But I like your appearance and manners very much, 
and I am very grateful for what you have done for Char- 
ley. Perhaps you could refer me to some person with 
whom you are acquainted.” 

Bertha was about to mention the name of the clergyman 
in Whitestone, whose church her father’s family had at- 
tended ; but as the words were upon her lips, she happened 
to remember that she had not given her real name, and that 
the minister would not know any such person as Bertha 
Loring. 

“ For reasons which I could give, if necessary, I would 
rather not refer to any of my former friends,” said Bertha. 

“Your former friends? ” repeated the lady, who, by this 
time had begun to obtain some idea of the circumstances 
of the applicant. “ Are they not your friends now? ” 

“ I do not know, ma’am,” sighed Bertha. “ As I have 
no references I think I ’will take my leave.” 

“ Don’t go yet, Miss Loring. I assure you I feel a deep 
interest in you, and only a necessary caution prevents me 
from engaging you at once. You must perceive that your 
situation is quite peculiar.” 

“ Yes, ma’am, I know that it is ; and therefore I am un- 
willing to trouble you any longer.” 

“You have evidently been well educated; and at your 
age you cannot possibly be an adventuress.” 

Bertha was not very clear what the lady meant by an 
adventuress, but she hastened to assure her she was not 
one. 

“ And I should suppose from your name that you belong 
to a good family.” 

“ My father has been very unfortunate,” replied Bertha, 
“or I should not be an applicant for this situation.” 

“ Where is your father now ? ” 

“ He is in New York City.” 

“ Possibly my husband knows him,” added the lady. 
“Loring? Loring?” she continued, musing. 

“ I don’t think he does,” replied Bertha. “ But, ma’am, 
my father does not know that I am trying to earn my own 


Rich and Humble 


92 

living and that of my sister. He has very recently failed 
in business. My friends don’t know that I am an appli- 
cant for such a place ; and, for reasons of my own, I wish 
to conceal my movements, at least for the present. You 
will excuse me from answering any questions in regard to 
my family.” 

Poor Bertha ! It was her first attempt at deception of 
any kind, and she could hardly play the part she had 
chosen. 

“ I think I perfectly understand your position, and as 
Charley seems to like you so well, I shall engage you at the 
salary you named.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am,” exclaimed Bertha, astonished at 
the decision of Mrs. Byron. “ You are very generous to 
take me without testimonials or reference ; but I assure you 
your confidence shall not be undeserved.” 

“ I am quite satisfied, or I shouldn’t have ventured to 
engage you under these circumstances. Here, Charley, 
how' would you like this young lady to take care of you ? ” 
“Oh, ever so much, ma!” exclaimed Charley, jumping 
off his horse and seizing the new governess by the hand. 

“ She will teach you to read, Charley,” added his mother. 

“ Oh, goody ! I want to be able to read my picture 
books ; but I can spell cat now ; c-a-t, cat.” 

“ Till you learn I w r ill read them to you, Charley,” said 
Bertha, w ho had already begun to feel a strong interest in 
her young charge. 

“ Have you any taste for music, Miss Loring? ” 

“ I can play and sing a little,” replied Bertha, modestly. 

“ Come and let me hear you play,” said Charley, as he 
tugged away at the hand of Bertha, and finally dragged 
her into the parlor, where the piano was located. 

“ He is very fond of music,” remarked Mrs. Byron, as 
she followed them into the parlor. 

Bertha played several simple pieces for the amusement 
of the little boy, and played them so well that the mother 
was even more delighted than the child. Then, at the 
special request of Charley, she played and sang “ Three 


Rich and Humble 93 

Blind Mice,” which suited him so well that he called for 
more. For an hour she engaged the attention of both her 
auditors ; and then the heir of Blue Hill, as the estate of 
Mr. Byron was called, clamored for “ pickers,” which, 
rendered into the vernacular, meant pictures. 

Charley produced pencils, paper and a slate, and in- 
sisted that Bertha should “ make a house.” She had early 
developed a decided taste and talent for drawing, and, up 
to the commencement of the summer vacation, she had 
taken lessons of an artist whose cottage was in the neigh- 
borhood of Woodville. Her teacher declared that she 
would make an artist, and quite a number of her pencil 
drawings adorned the walls of her father’s house. In the 
extremity of her want and sorrow she had thought of ap- 
plying her talent to a profitable use, and she had not yet 
given up the idea. 

She took the pencil which Charley brought, and made a 
house which was entirely satisfactory. Then she made 
men, and horses, and carts, and other objects which the 
young gentleman called for, so that she soon became a 
prodigy in his eyes, and, of course, as the mother saw with 
the child’s eyes, she was equally a wonder in her estimation. 

When Charley began to grow weary of pictures, both 
of them were well rested from the fatigue of their walk, 
and the child proposed a ramble in the garden, where 
Bertha was just as pleasing and just as instructive as she 
had been at the piano and with the pencil. 

At six o’clock Mr. Byron came home, and heard with 
astonishment the change which had been made in the domes- 
tic affairs of the family. Master Charley had considerable 
to say about his new governess, as his mother had already 
taught him to call her, and he recommended her so highly 
that the father was well satisfied with the change. 

As soon as she had an opportunity she wrote to Ben, in- 
forming him what and where she was, and asking him to 
send her trunk to her. On the following day fhe trunk 
was brought down in the boat, and she had a visit from 
Ben and Noddy. The old man was glad to see her so w r ell 

d7 


Rich and Humble 


94 

situated, but he had his doubts about the change of name. 
Noddy jumped and capered like an antelope, and aston- 
ished Charley by throwing back and forward somersets, 
and b} r such gyrations as the little fellow had never seen 
before. The visit was a pleasant one to all parties, and 
Ben and Noddy left with the promise to call again in a 
short time. 

While Bertha was watching the boat as it sped on its 
way up the river, she heard a sharp cry from Charley, and 
on turning, saw him lying on the ground. 

“Why, what’s the matter, Charley? ” she cried, lifting 
him up. 

“ I bumped my head and hurt me,” replied he. 

Bertha examined the injured member, and found a 
pretty smart bump on the summit of his cranium, which 
she washed in cold water from the river and rubbed it till 
Charley declared it was quite well.” 

“ How did you do it? ” asked she. 

“ I was trying to do what Noddy did, and hit my head 
upon a stone.” 

“ You mustn’t try to do such things as that.” 

“ Noddy did it.” 

“ Noddy is a little wild boy. I have told him a great 
many times not to do such things. It isn’t pretty, and 
you must not try to do so again.” 

“ I' should like to do what Noddy did, and I mean to 
try it again.” 

“ Don’t, Charley ; you may get a worse bump than you 
did this time.” 

“ I don’t care if I do ; if Noddy did it, I can.” 

But before the forcible arguments which the governess 
brought forward Master Charley finally promised not to 
break his head in vain attempts to do what was neither 
pretty nor proper for the heir of Blue Hill to do. 

A few days after the visit of the boatman she received 
a letter from Richard, which had been forwarded to her 
from Whitestone. He wrote in excellent spirits, and said 
lie had obtained a situation on board of a gentleman’s 


Rich and Humble 


95 

yacht, and was about to sail for Newport. He had seen his 
father in the Tombs. He was to be examined on the fol- 
lowing day and fully expected to be discharged. This 
was all Richard said about his father. It was meager 
enough, and very unsatisfactory to Bertha. She had not 
the money to pay the expense of a visit to the city, or she 
would have asked leave of absence for a day to go and see 
him. She had written several letters to him, but had not 
yet received any reply, and therefore supposed they did 
not reach him. 

Bertha soon found that her situation was not a bed of 
roses. Mrs. Byron was not an angel. Her temper was 
not angelic, and the governess was sometimes compelled 
to submit to harsh and unmerited rebuke, couched in such 
language as she had never heard before. 

The hopeful heir of Blue Hill, though he could spell 
44 cat ” and knew who was President of the United States, 
was not yet fit to put on his wings and become a cherub. 
He had some of his mother’s temper and a great deal of his 
own obstinacy. He was an only child, and as such had 
been indulged, as far as indulgence would go ; and Bertha 
found that she was expected to lead, not to govern, him. 
If Charley wanted to jump into the river, she was to find 
arguments to convince him that the cold water was un- 
comfortable and might drown him. If he wanted to eat 
green apples, she was to persuade him not to do so, and 
not make him cry by taking them away from him. 

One day he took a notion that certain unripe winter 
pears would be “ good to take,” and had actually bitten 
one of them, when Bertha, with as little force as was need- 
ful, took it from him and threw it away. Charley set up 
a howl which made the ground shake under him -and 
brought his mother from the house. The heir of Blue Hill 
told his story, and Bertha was sharply scolded for cross- 
ing the dear little fellow. 

When Mrs. Byron suggested that the young gentle- 
man ought to commence learning his letters, the governess 
applied herself with becoming zeal to the task of teaching 


Rich and Humble 


96 

him those mysterious characters. For ten minutes Charley 
gave his attention ; then he wanted her to read a story. 
In vain she coaxed him to learn the letters ; it was plain 
that he had no taste for the heavy work of literature. 
Day after day she attempted to fasten his mind upon the 
ABC, but with no better success. She resorted to all the 
expedients she could devise, but Charley was as obstinate 
as a mule. 

These were some of her trials — trials with blaster Char- 
ley ; trials with his mother. Bertha faithfully persevered 
and endured everything without a murmur. But her 
charge was sometimes a little lamb, as pretty and as cun- 
ning as child could be; and there were hours of sunshine 
* — oases in the desert of trial and care. 

When Bertha had been at Blue Hill about a week Mr. 
Byron gave a large dinner party, and the house was filled 
with all fine folks of the surrounding country. Mrs. Byron 
was very much afraid Charley would get into his “ tan- 
trums ” in the presence of the company, and thus convince 
them that he was not an angel, in spite of his velvet 
tunic and his lace-frilled trousers. During the dinner 
hour, therefore — a period in which Charley was peculiarly 
liable to be attacked by unaccountable humors — Bertha 
was required to keep him in the nursery, and also to keep 
him in excellent temper. 

By dint of extraordinary tact and perseverance she suc- 
ceeded in accomplishing both these ends, and congratulated 
herself upon the hope that she should thus escape the un- 
welcome infliction of seeing any of the visitors. It was 
quite probable that among them were many friends of her 
father, and the fear of being recognized, and her little 
deception exposed, was terrible. The dinner hour was a 
fashionable one, and before the party rose from the table 
Charley’s bedtime had arrived, and she was on the point 
of disposing of him for the night, when Mrs. Byron en- 
tered the nursery. 

“ The company have just gone to the parlor, and they 
all insist upon seeing Charley,” said she. 


Rich and Humble 97 

Bertha was appalled; but it was useless to offer any ob- 
jections, and she proceeded to prepare her charge for the 
ordeal. 

“ I suppose it is not necessary for me to appear with 
him,” said she, in an indifferent tone, which but ill con- 
cealed her anxiety. 

“ Certainly it is,” replied Mrs. Byron, sharply. “ You 
must go with him, and be sure that you make him appear 
to the best advantage. You can tell him some cunning 
little things to say before he goes down. Let him come 
into the room with his hat on and his little cane in his 
hand.” 

“ Wouldn’t you excuse me from going with him? ” 
pleaded Bertha. 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ I will go with him to the door and tell him what to 
say,” added Bertha. 

“ I thought you were brought up in a good family,” 
sneered Mrs. Byron. “ You surely are not afraid to ap- 
pear in company.” 

“ Not afraid to, ma’am, but I do not like to do so.” 

“ Whether you like it or not, you must do so. Now be 
sure that Charley appears well and shows himself to the 
best advantage,” said Mrs. Byron, as she sailed out of the 
room. 

There was no alternative, and Bertha prepared for the 
trial. Charley’s plumed hat was put upon his head, his 
cane placed in his hand and he was duly marched into the 
presence of the company. 

CHAPTER XIII 

BERTHA LOSES HER SITUATION 

Master Charley strutted into the parlor, cane in hand, 
and was warmly greeted by the guests, who, as a matter of 
politeness, if nothing else, were in duty bound to admire 
his curly head and his cunning manners. For a time, 
therefore, Bertha escaped observation, and the heir of Blue 
Hill was the center of attraction. 


Rich and Humble 


98 

“ I can spell cat ; c-a-t, cat,” roared Charley ; “ and I 
can spell dog; d-o-g, dog.” 

“ Now, who is governor of New York, Charley? ” whis- 
pered Bertha. 

“ Oh, I know ! ” and Charley scratched his head and dis- 
arranged the curls, to the horror of his mother. “ Oh, I 
know who is governor of New York; it is Capt. Kidd; and 
he buried lots of money round here, somewhere.” 

The company laughed heartily at this sally, and thought 
it was very cunning ; but Bertha blushed at the carelessness 
of her pupil, and Mrs. Byron looked daggers at the gov- 
erness. The exhibition of Charley’s quick points promised 
to be a failure; and Bertha was sadly perplexed, for she 
felt that she was not giving satisfaction. 

But there was still one more hope left. She had taught 
Charley to play “ Days of Absence ” with one finger on the 
piano, and she thought he might possibly make a sensation 
with this, if he had not forgotten it, as he had almost 
everything else. She placed him upon the stool, and, put- 
ting the finger in the right place, the young gentleman 
went through this performance in a very creditable man- 
ner, very much to the surprise even of his mother, who had 
not heard him do it. The guests clapped their hands, and 
expressed their admiration in no measured terms, which so 
excited the vanity of the child that he immediately pro- 
ceeded to perform another astounding feat, which was not 
put down in the program. This was no less than throw- 
ing a back somerset, in imitation of Noddy Newman. 

If the experiment had not been a failure, no doubt it 
would have been received with rapturous applause, as 
everything he did was received ; but Charley was not quite 
equal to a back somerset, and struck the floor upon the 
top of his head. The new sensation w r as decidedly un- 
pleasant to the heir of Blue Hill, and was not at all agree- 
able to the company. It was followed by a yell that would 
have been creditable to a tiger in the jungle of Hindus- 
tan. Bertha ran to his assistance, picked him up, and 
rubbed the bump which had been so suddenly developed. 


Rich and Humble 


99 

It was the bump of self-esteem naturally enlarged, which 
was entirely unnecessary, for Charley had a superabund- 
ance before the accident. 

The sympathizing guests gathered around the wounded 
hero, and endeavored to console him ; but he bawled inces- 
santly, and refused to be comforted. Mrs. Byron was 
shocked, and declared that the mishap had resulted from 
the careless governess introducing the boy to bad com- 
pany. But whatever the cause, and whatever the efforts 
used to induce Master Charley to moderate his excessive 
grief, he wept and roared as one without hope. 

“ Take him to the nursery,” said Mrs. Byron, in a whis- 
per to Bertha. 

Come upstairs with me, Charley, and I will make a 
house for you,” said Bertha. 

“ I won’t go upstairs. I don’t want any of your old 
pictures,” bawled the discomfited hero. 

“ Come up with me, and I will sing 4 Three Bline Mice ’ 
to you.” 

“ I won’t.” 

“ We will play horse, then.” 

“ I don’t want to play horse. I am going to stay here 
as long as I please.” 

Bertha was tempted to pick him up, and carry him out 
of the room ; but this would be violation of all rule and 
precedent. In vain she coaxed him ; in vain she promised 
to play everything and sing everything. Charley had lost 
his temper, and nothing could move him. A spoiled child 
on exhibition, especially when he performs after the man- 
ner of Master Charley on the present occasion, is disgust- 
ing to all except his parents. Mrs. Byron was not satis- 
fied with the conduct of her hopeful; but instead of 
regarding it as the result of a want of discipline, she 
attributed it all to the mismanagement of the governess, 

Bertha would have brought the scene to a conclusion. 
However unpleasant, without delay, if she had dared to do 
so ; but as Master Charley must have his own way, no mat^ 


IOO 


Rich and Humble 


ter who suffered, or what consequences followed, he was 
not taken from the room by the strong hand of authority. 
He bawled till his throat must have been sorer than his 
head, and the company were tired of the music. 

At last, a gentleman, despairing of any relief, took out 
his watch, and offered to show the works to the disconso- 
late heir. This was a rare treat, and Charley had the 
grace to yield the point, and submit to a treaty of peace, 
or at least to a suspension of hostilities. 

“ How do you do, Miss Grant? ” said a gentleman who 
had been observing Bertha with close attention for some 
time, as he stepped forward and extended his hand. 

She took it, blushed deeply, and stammered out a reply, 
for Mrs. Byron was standing by her side. 

“ How is your father? ” asked the gentleman. 

“ He is not very well. I have not seen him lately.” 

“ I have frequently met you at Woodville; perhaps you 
do not remember me.” 

“ Yes, sir, I do.” 

“ I have been at the South for some months, and re- 
turned yesterday. Do you still' reside at Woodville? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ You are visiting your friends here, I suppose. It is 
very kind of you to attempt to manage that child,” he 
added, in a low tone, as Mrs. Byron’s attention was called 
to a rupture between Charley and his new friend, whose 
watch the dear little fellow insisted upon picking to pieces. 

“ He is very hard to manage,” replied Bertha. 

“ A spoiled child,” added the gentleman, as Mrs. Bvron 
returned to the spot. 

“ My governess is wholly incompetent,” said she, an- 
grily, for she had heard the last remark. u Charlev is a 
good boy, and, when properly managed, is as gentle as a 
lamb, Mr. Gray.” 

“ He appears to be,” added the gentleman, satirically. 
“He evidently has a sweet temper, and in due time will 
make a great and good man.” 


Rich and Humble 


IOI 


Mrs. Byron did not understand these remarks, but took 
them as a compliment, and her anger was partially ap- 
peased. 

“ He has had enough to try the temper of a saint. He 
nearly died with cholera three days ago from eating green 
apples, of which the governess permitted him to partake.” 

Mr. Gray looked at Bertha, and evidently did not be- 
lieve this statement, for the sudden coloring of Bertha’s 
cheek seemed to refute the falsehood. 

“ Do I understand you that Miss Grant is the child’s 
governess? ” 

“ Miss Loring,” added Mrs. Byron. 

“ But this is the daughter of Mr. Grant, of Woodville,” 
said the gentleman, who was perplexed by the name and 
the relation which she bore to the family. 

“ My father has met with some heavy reverses,” stam- 
mered Bertha. “ I am engaged as a governess here.” 

“ Pardon me,” said Mr. Gray, who was now greatly em- 
barrassed. “ As I said, I have recently come home, after 
an absence of some months, and had not heard of the un- 
pleasant position of your father’s affairs.” 

“Miss Grant?” said the lady of the house. “Miss 
Loring, you can retire,” she added, in a loud tone. 

Bertha was too glad to obey this haughty command to 
object even to the tone in which it was uttered. But when 
she had gone, Mrs. Byron heard more about Mr. Grant 
and his affairs ; for there were several present who were 
acquainted with him, and all had read the history of his 
alleged fall in the papers. She learned that the father of 
her governess was even then a prisoner in the Tombs. 

“ To think that I have placed my only child in the care 
of such a person ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Byron. 

“ Miss Bertha Grant is a very excellent young lady,” 
Mr. Gray ventured to suggest. 

“ She is an impostor ! ” said Mrs. Byron, who seemed to 
feel that the governess was the cause of all her mortal 
trials. 


102 


Rich and Humble 


“ At Woodville she was regarded as a young lady of 
splendid abilities, and her mission to the poor children of 
Dunk’s Hollow was the admiration of all the neighbor- 
hood,” added Mr. Gray. “ I know of no person to whom 
I would more willingly intrust my children.” 

“ She is an impostor ! ” persisted Mrs. Byron. “ That 
is enough to condemn her ” ; and leaving Charley to enter- 
tain the company in his fascinating way, she flounced out 
of the room, and hastened to the nursery, to which Bertha 
had already retreated. 

“ Miss Loring, you have deceived and disappointed me,” 
she began, still flushed w r ith anger. 

“ I am sorry I deceived you, Mrs. Byron, and I hope you 
will forgive me, for I meant no harm to you.” 

“ You are an impostor ! ” 

“ No, ma’am, I am not. I am just what I represented 
myself to be.” 

“ Your father is in prison for fraud.” 

“ That is his misfortune, but it is not my fault,” replied 
Bertha, indignant at this brutal treatment, 

“Misfortune? Yes, that is what they always call it 
when a man commits a crime.” 

“ My father has committed no crime.” 

“ You came here under a false name. You have im-* 
posed upon me. I don’t know w r hat you are, even now* 
At any rate, you are not a fit person to watch over the 
innocent life of my only child. I tremble for him eveni 
now, after you have been here only a week. Of course 
you understand me.” 

“ Your words are plain enough.” 

“ I don’t want you to remain here another night,” added 
the angry woman. “ I have trusted you too long.” 

“ I hope I have not abused your confidence,” said Bertha, 
overwhelmed by this outburst of abuse. 

“ I have not counted my spoons since you came.” 

“ Madam, that is an insult that no lady would put upon 
an unprotected girl. I will leave your house immediately 
answered Bertha, almost stunned by this unfeeling charge* 


Rich and Humble 


103 

“ As quick as possible, if you please,” sneered the lady. 
“ I dare not lose sight of you.” 

Bertha stepped into the adjoining room, and in a few 
moments was dressed ready to leave the house. 

“ I should like to look into your trunk before you go,” 
said Mrs. Byron, whose malice seemed to be unlimited. 

“ You cannot, madam,” replied Bertha, firmly, but re- 
spectfully. 

“ But I think I shall. Since I have found out what you 
are, I have a great many doubts. Give me the key of 
your trunk.” 

“ No, madam, I will not. I will submit to no further 
insult.” 

“ I will see if you won’t.” 

“ If you proceed any further, madam, I will appeal to 
Mr. Gray for protection. He was my father’s friend, and 
I hope he is mine. I will leave your house at once, and 
send for my trunk as soon as I can.” 

“ Not till your trunk has been examined.” 

“ Very well, madam ; I will appeal to Mr. Gray,” and 
she passed out of the room. 

“ Stop, Miss Loring.” 

Bertha paused in the hall. 

“ If there is nothing in your trunk but what belongs to 
you, you need not fear to have it examined.” 

“ There is nothing but my property in it ; but I will not 
submit to such an insult.” 

“ You can go ! and if Mr. Byron thinks it necessary to 
search the trunk, he will do so.” 

“You have forgotten to pay me my salary, madam,” 
said Bertha. 

“ Dare you ask for payment after what has happened ? ” 

“ I think I am justly entitled to what I have earned.” 

“ I don’t think so, and you can go.” 

“ But I want my wages, madam.” 

" I do not owe you anything. You imposed upon me, 
and you have done Charley more harm than good. He 


104 Rich and Humble 

never behaved as he did this evening before since he was 
born.” 

“ I think I have done my duty faithfully ; at least I have 
tried to do it. I have not money enough to pay my fare 
to the city, and I hope you will not keep back my wages.” 

“ I shall pay you nothing.” 

“ I shall be very sorry to appeal to Mr. Gray for assist- 
ance, but I shall have to ask him to lend me a few dollars.” 

“You impudent hussy!” exclaimed Mrs. Byron, in a 
great rage, as she again found herself in a difficult position. 

Mr. Gray was a wealthy and influential person, and she 
would have given any sum rather than permit him to know 
anything about the matter. Bertha said no more, but 
walked down the stairs, intending to call Mr. Gray from 
the parlor, and tell him the whole truth. When she 
reached the lower hall, she heard the screams of Master 
Charley, who had evidently had a falling out with the 
owner of the watch. 

“ I want Miss Coring ! ” screamed the little ruffian. 

She was about to approach the open door of the parlor, 
when Mrs. Bryon rushed down the stairs, and in more 
gentle tones than she had heard her use since the first day 
she came into the house, called her by name. She paused, 
and the lady joined her. 

“ Here is three dollars. I believe that is what I owe 
you — is it not ? ” 

“ Yes, madam ; thank you.” 

“ Peter has a horse and wagon at the door, and he will 
carry your trunk for you.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am ; you are very kind,” said Bertha, 
surprised at the sudden change in the manner of the lady. 

The powerful name of Mr. Gray had wrought the 
change, with, perhaps, a consciousness that she had ex- 
ceeded the bounds of humanity and decency. 

The lady stepped into the parlor and closed the door 
behind her, that no one might witness the departure of the 
discharged governess. Bertha found in Peter a ready 


Rich and Humble 


105 

friend, and in a few moments she was seated in the wagon 
by his side, with her trunk in front of her. 

“ Where shall I drive you, Miss Loring ? ” asked Peter, 
as they proceeded down the hill to the road. 

“ I hardly know, Peter,” replied Bertha, sadly. “ I 
have no place to go.” 

“No place to go ! ” exclaimed he. “ What are you 
leaving at this hour of night for, then ? ” 

“ I was obliged to leave.” 

“ Ah ! I see how it is. I was afraid that brat would be 
the death of you ; and when I heard him screeching in the 
parlor, I thought there would be a row for somebody. 
.Then you have been discharged? ” 

“ I have.” 

“ Turned out of the house at this hour of night, with 
no place to go ! That woman has no more soul than a 
brickbat.” 

“ Is there a hotel in the village, Peter ? ” 

“ There is ; but it is no place for a girl like you. If you 
will go to my cottage, you shall have a poor man’s welcome.” 

“ Thank you, Peter. I shall be very grateful to you if 
you will let me remain with you till morning.” 

“ I will, with all my heart.” 

Peter was head groom at Blue Hill, and his house was 
only a short distance from the residence of Mr. Byron. 
Peter’s wife received her kindly and conducted her to the 
little spare chamber which was appropriated to her use. 

The groom evidently understood the temper of the mis- 
tress of Blue Hill well enough to comprehend the nature of 
the difficulty which had driven Bertha from her place, and 
neither he nor his wife asked any questions. Although it 
was quite early in the evening, the poor girl preferred to 
retire, and her hostess offered no objection. 

The events of the evening had been so rapid and unex- 
pected that Bertha was entirely unprepared for the shock 
Svhich had so suddenly fallen upon her. Again she was 
alone and friendless in the world, and she could hardly ex- 


io6 


Rich and Humble 


pect another lucky incident would supply her with a home, 
as had been the case only a week before. But she was a 
little better off than she had been then, for she had three 
dollars in her purse, with which to pay her fare to the city. 

*Before she went to sleep she committed herself to the 
care of her heavenly Father, and felt confident that He 
would guide her steps, and protect her in the midst of the 
trials which were before her. 

At breakfast the next morning, when Bertha announced 
her purpose of going to the city, Peter offered to drive her 
down to the ferry, where she could cross the river, and take 
the train on the other side. She accepted his offer, and as 
soon as he could get the horse, he returned from the stable. 

In a short time Bertha was embarked on the ferry, with 
many thanks to Peter and his wife for their kindness, which, 
she assured him, should never be forgotten. A ride of less 
than an hour brought her to the great city, where every- 
body seemed to be rushing to and fro, as though the salva- 
tion of the world depended upon the rapidity of their move- 
ments. None of them took any notice of poor Bertha, 
and she was more alone in the midst of the multitude than 
she had been amid the rural scenes she had just left. 

She knew not what to do, or where to go, and having 
left her trunk in charge of the baggage master at the rail- 
road station, she w'andered down Broadway. 

CHAPTER NIV 

BERTHA VISITS HER FATHER’S OFFICE 

Bertha knew enough of the perils of the city to make 
her tremble, when she considered that she was alone and un- 
protected. The prospect of finding suitable employment 
was exceedingly hopeless. Though she had often been in 
the city, and knew the principal localities, everything 
seemed strange to her; the houses and the streets wore a 
different aspect, for she was not now the daughter of the 
rich broker, but the child of want, seeking the opportunity; 
to fulfill what had become the great mission of her existence. 


Rich and Humble 


107 

Though her first object was to obtain a situation where 
she might procure the means of subsistence, this was not 
the mission of Bertha Grant. She had in her mind, clearly 
and hopefully defined, a higher and holier purpose. As 
at Woodville, in the midst of luxury and plenty, she did 
not live only to enjoy them-; she now felt that she had 
been sent into the world with a great work given her to 
perform. An earnest and true man, from his pulpit in 
Whitestone, had given her the idea, and she had pondered 
and cherished it till it became a principle. 

She believed she had been created to do good to her fel- 
low r beings, and with this noble thought in her heart she 
had gone upon her mission to the poor children of Dunk’s 
Hollow. He who spoke in Whitestone the words and the 
spirit of Him of Nazareth spoke through Bertha to the 
friendless and despised little ones who gathered around her 
at the Glen. His words and her words, spoken in faith 
and hope, and embodied in good and generous deeds, were 
to yield their hundredfold ; and though Bertha had been 
withdrawn from her labors, the seeds which she had sown 
were still growing. Though some might perish, others 
would live, and thrive and mature. 

In the same faith and hope which had led her to gather 
together the children of Dunk’s Hollow, she was now la- 
boring to save her father and her brother — her father from 
suffering and sorrow, her brother from himself. This was 
the present mission of Bertha Grant ; and it w r as a part of 
the great purpose of her existence. While she was in' want 
she could do nothing. The body must be fed and clothed, 
and if she could obtain employment that would relieve her 
from absolute want, she w r ould be in condition to prosecute 
the greater work of the hour. 

Full of these thoughts she walked down Broadway, with • 
nothing to encourage her, and without any plan or expec- 
tation to guide her doubtful footsteps. Slowly she 
threaded her way through the dense crowd that always 
throngs the street, till she came to City Hall Park. All 


Rich and Humble 


108 

the way she had looked in vain for any suggestion that 
might aid her in accomplishing her purpose. In a few 
hours more the night would come. She dared not go to 
a hotel in the great city, and she trembled to think of 
being friendless and homeless in those streets where vil- 
lains choose darkness for deeds of sin and violence. 

The thought filled her with terror, but it inspired her 
with new resolution. There was something to be done, and 
the time for doing it was short. Yet where should she go? 
She could not answer this question, and involuntarily she 
continued her walk down Broadway, till she came to Wall 
Street. She was now near her father’s office, and she deter- 
mined to go and look at it, if nothing more. 

It was a familiar locality, for she had often been to see 
her father during business hours. To her astonishment 
she found the office open, and her father’s clerk in his usual 
place at the desk. This looked hopeful to her, and she 
entered, with a beating heart, to inquire about her father. 

“ Miss Grant ! ” exclaimed the clerk, as she came in. 

“Can you tell me anything about my father?” asked 
Bertha, as she seated herself in the chair which the clerk 
offered her. 

“ I am sorry to say that I cannot give you any good 
news from him,” replied Mr. Sherwood, gloomily. 

“ Where is he now ? ” 

“ He is where he was,” said the clerk, embarrassed. 

“ In the prison, you mean.” 

“ Yes, in the Tombs ; but I am certain that he will come 
out without the stain of dishonor upon him.” 

“ I feel, I know, that he has been guilty of no crime,” 
added Bertha, earnestly. 

“ I suppose you understand the circumstances under 
which he was arrested ? ” 

“ I do not.” 

“ It is a rather complicated affair. He was arrested on 
the charge of fraud.” 

“ So I have understood.” 


Rich and Humble 109 

“ But he is no more guilty of fraud than I am; and if 
we can only get a chance to let the truth out, we shall make 
the matter plain to the whole world. Grayle is at the bot- 
tom of the whole affair; he is your father’s enemy.” 

“ He is a very rude and hard man,” said Bertha, recall- 
ing the incidents of her departure from Woodville. 

“ Three or four years ago your father spoiled a dishon- 
est speculation in which Grayle and others were engaged ; 
this made him an enemy, though they still kept on good 
terms together. Some months since Mr. Grant borrowed 
fifty thousand dollars of him, giving him certain English 
securities as collateral.” 

“ I really don’t know what you mean,” said Bertha. 

“ The securities were certain papers, by which Brace 
Brothers, an English banking firm, supposed to be very 
wealthy, promised to pay certain sums of money,” continued 
the clerk, smiling at the perplexed look of Bertha. “ In 
other words, Brace Brothers promised to pay your father 
— or the holder of the papers — twelve thousand pounds.” 

“ I understand that.” 

“ This money was to be drawn in bills of exchange, or 
orders. Now, when your father wanted a large sum for 
immediate use, he gave them to Mr. Grayle as security, 
because the bills of exchange were not to be drawn till 
September. The very next steamer that came in brought 
intelligence of the suspension of Brace Brothers — that is, 
they had stopped payment — did not pay their notes and 
other obligations.” 

“ I understand it very well.” 

“ Well, Grayle declared that your father knew these se- 
curities were worthless when he gave them to him, and im- 
mediately accused him of fraud. He came into the office 
very much excited, and talked to your father as no gentle- 
man ever talked to another. Your father resented the 
charge, which made Grayle all the more angry.” 

“ But how could he accuse my father of fraud, when all 
this happened before it was known that Brace Brothers 
had suspended ? ” 

d8 


no 


Rich and Humble 


“ There was some reason,” said the clerk, after a pause. 
“ One of Grayle’s friends had a letter, which had come be- 
fore the transaction, in which Brace Brothers mentioned 
their financial embarrassments ; but I am certain your 
father had no suspicion that they were weak. In fact,” 
said Mr. Sherwood, in a very low tone, “ I have a letter, 
which I carry in my pocket since your father was arrested, 
that will set the matter all right. A friend of mine gave it 
to me. Grayle would give a thousand dollars for this let- 
ter,” added the clerk, with a triumphant air. 

“ I hope you will save him,” replied Bertha. 

“ I know I shall. Our own correspondence with Brace 
Brothers shows that they believed themselves to be sound. 
But this letter will save him, if nothing else will. All we want 
is to get the matter before the court. Grayle keeps getting 
it put off, for if the truth comes out it will ruin him.” 

“ He has secured Woodville,” added Bertha. 

“ That was the only weak tiling your father did. 
Grayle went so far that your father was alarmed, and at- 
tempted to save his honor at the expense of his property. 
He gave Grayle a bill of sale of Woodville and all it con- 
tained, to keep him quiet for a few days, till he could raise 
the money to pay him. The villain then arrested your 
father and took possession of Woodville.” 

“ The paper said my father was going to leave the 
country.” 

“ All nonsense ! He had no more idea of leaving the 
country than I had. Grayle watched him all the time; 
and when he went over to the British steamer to see a 
friend, who was going to Europe, he had him arrested, and 
then circulated the story which you read in the newspaper. 
Everybody believes just now that Mr. Grant is a common 
swindler; but we will set that matter right before long.” 

“ I am sure I hope so. Could I see my father? ” 

“ I am afraid not. Your brother got in, and saw him; 
but since then orders have been given to admit no one but 
his counsel. They wouldn’t let me in. Grayle is playing 


Rich and Humble 


1 1 1 


a deep game, and has probably used his influence to pre- 
vent your father from seeing his friends. He is a villain.” 

Mr. Sherwood’s opinions were decided, and were very 
emphatically delivered. They were full of hope and en- 
couragement to Bertha, and she rejoiced that she had been 
led to visit the office. But, although she was comforted 
and assured by the intelligence she had gained, there was 
nothing in it which promised to supply her immediate 
wants. She was still homeless and friendless, for she had 
not the courage to place herself under the protection of 
Mr. Sherwood. He was a young man, and had been with 
her father but a few months. She was not prepared to 
adopt this course until all other resources had failed. 

There was nothing in the facts she had just learned to 
change her purpose. Her father might get out of prison, 
but he was a ruined man. Mr. Sherwood might be mis- 
taken in his estimate of the value of the letter in his pos- 
session. The duty of providing for herself and Fanny 
seemed to be just as imperative as ever. 

Though she was not yet willing to ask the protection of 
her father’s clerk, the time might come within a few hours 
when she might be glad to do so. He was ignorant of her 
real situation, and supposed she was comfortably located 
in the house of some friend or relative. 

“ Where shall I find you, Mr. Sherwood, in case I should 
wish to see you again ? ” asked Bertha. 

“ You will find me here at all hours of the day and 
night. I have not been out of the office for more than 
half an hour at once since your father was arrested. I 
sleep on that sofa. Grayle is an unscrupulous wretch, 
and I don’t think he would hesitate to take any papers in 
the office which would serve his purpose ; or even to break 
in, if he has the courage to do so.” 

“ What a terrible man he must be ! ” added Bertha. 

“ He offered me a situation in his office the day after 
your father was arrested. I think he would be willing to 
buy me up at any price.” 


I 12 


Rich and Humble 


“ I am sure my father willbe grateful to you.” 

“ Your father always used me well, and I will not desert 
him if all the rest of the world does.” 

“ I am very thankful that he has so good a friend.” 

“ Oh, I only wish to do as I would be done by. If you 
should want anything, Miss Grant, you can call upon me. 
There was a small sum of money in the office when your 
father was arrested, though I suppose it will all come in 
use to pay the lawyers, and other expenses.” 

“ Thank you ; I don’t need anything at present,” replied 
Bertha, who would not have touched a dollar that could 
be serviceable in effecting her father’s release. 

At this point an elderly gentleman entered the office, and 
began to make inquiries of Mr. Sherwood concerning her 
father. He looked at Bertha for a moment, and appeared 
to be excited. She thought his countenance seemed familiar 
to her, though she was confident she had never seen him be- 
fore. The clerk, perhaps thinking it would not be pleasant 
for her to hear her father’s situation discussed by a 
stranger, conducted her into the private office, and gave 
ber the morning paper — the Herald. 

Bertha wondered who the gentleman was, as she glanced 
over the columns of the paper. His face was strangely 
familiar, yet she was positive she had never seen him. But 
her attention was soon withdrawn from him by an adver- 
tisement in the paper, which caught her eye. An old 
gentleman, an invalid, advertised for a well-educated young 
lady, to read to him, and act as amanuensis. 

“ If I could only get that place ! ” said she to herself, 
as she wrote down on a slip of paper the address men- 
tioned in the advertisement. 

There would be hundreds of applicants for the situa- 
tion ; but she could try to obtain it, and she resolved to do 
so without a moment’s delay. As she passed through the 
other office, where the stranger was engaged in earnest con- 
versation with the clerk, she said that she would call again 
some other time, and hastened down the stairs to the street. 


Rich and Humble 


The house of the invalid gentleman was in the upper 
part of the city, and she took the street car uptown, lest 
some other applicant should obtain the place before her. 
Without much difficulty she found the house. It was an 
elegant establishment, and on the door was the name of 
“ F. Presby.” With a trembling hand, she rang the bell,, 
which was answered by a man in a white jacket. 

“ I wish to see Mr. Presby,” replied Bertha. 

“Which Mr. Presby?” 

“ The old gentleman — the invalid.” 

“ Another person to answer the advertisement,” said a 
female voice in the entry, beyond the inner door. “ Tell 
her he is not at home, John.” 

“ Not at home, miss,” repeated the man in the white 
jacket. 

“ When will he be at home? ” asked Bertha. 

“ He has left town, and will not be back until next week.”' 

“ But he advertised for a young dady.” 

“Yes, miss, he did; but, you see, the old gentleman is 
crazy, and don’t know what he wants. At any rate, he 
don’t want any young lady.” 

Poor Bertha’s heart sank within her, as the nice place 
which she had hoped to obtain proved to be a mere shadow, 
and she stood gazing at the servant with a look of despair. 

“ Not at home, miss,” repeated the man, partially clos- 
ing the door, as a hint for her to leave. 

She turned and descended the steps, the man closing the 
door with a slam. But she had scarcely reached the side- 
walk, before she heard the door open again. She turned 
to discover the. cause, and saw a tall, pale old gentleman, 
with a dressing gown on, standing at the door. 

“ Do you wish to see me? ” asked he, in feeble tones. 

“ I called to see Mr. Presby,” replied Bertha, a ray of 
hope again lighting up her soul. 

“ Come in, if you please.” 

But the servant had told her that old Mr. Presby was- 
crazy, and did not want a young lady to read to him.. 


Rich and Humble 


114 

The thought of throwing herself into the company of a 
lunatic was not pleasing ; but the sad, pale old gentleman 
looked so mild and inoffensive that she concluded there 
must be some mistake, and she followed him into the house. 

CHAPTER XV 

BERTHA MYSTIFIED BY STRANGE THINGS 

The old gentleman conducted Bertha up the stairs to 
the large front room which was fitted up as a library. It 
was furnished in a plain, old-fashioned manner, and was 
well supplied with sofas, lounges and easy-chairs. As 
they entered this room, the old gentleman closed the door 
behind them, and offered her a chair. 

Bertha almost wished she' had not come in, when Mr. 
Presby closed the door, for being alone with an insane 
man was the most terrible thing she could imagine. She 
did not at first dare to take the chair to which the old 
gentleman beckoned her, but lingered near the door, ready 
to make her escape when she should discover the first symp- 
tom of insanity in the invalid. 

“ Be seated, if you please,” said the old gentleman. 

“ Thank you, sir,” stammered Bertha, keeping near the 
door, and gazing at the invalid with the deepest anxiety. 

But then it occurred to her that the rude servant had 
told her Mr. Presby was out of town, which was certainly 
a falsehood ; and perhaps the statement that he was crazy 
was equally false. She had never seen an insane person ; 
but Mr. Presby did not look any different from any other 
person. He was sad and pale, and seemed to be harmless. 

“ Won’t you take a seat? ” asked he again, in a tone so 
mild that she was almost convinced he was not crazy. 

She had heard that insane people are sometimes quite 
rational, and only have fits of madness at times. This 
might be the case with Mr. Presby, and he might, at any 
moment, become a raving maniac. But she took the chair, 
though she trembled as she did so, and kept one eye upon 
the door all the time. 


Rich and Humble 


US 

“ You wished to see me,” continued the old gentleman, 
as he seated himself near her — much nearer than she wished 
to have him under the circumstances. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Bertha, looking him in the eye, that 
she might discover the first symptom of wildness in season 
to make her escape before he could proceed to violence. 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” added Mr. Presby, with a smile,, 
as he evidently noticed her agitation. 

“ I — I’m — not alarmed,” stammered Bertha, in doubt 
whether she should apply for the situation. 

“ You are, I presume, an applicant for the place which 
I advertised in the morning paper.” 

“ Yes, sir ; I called to see about that ; but — I — I don’t 
know as the place will suit me,” answered she, still very 
much embarrassed at the thought of becoming reader and 
amanuensis for a crazy man. 

“ Well, my child, I don’t wish you to take the situation 
if you think it will not suit you,” added Mr. Presby, with 
a fatherly smile. “What is your name? ” 

“ Bertha Grant, sir.” 

“ Why do you think the place would not suit you ? ” 

“ Because — I, really, sir ” 

“ You seem to have changed your mind very suddenly.” 

“ The servant told me you were out of town ” 

“ And out of my head,” said the invalid, with a smile. 
“ I begin to understand why you think the situation will 
not suit you. The servant told you that Mr. Presby was 
crazy, and did not want any young lady.” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Bertha, frankly. 

“ I am not crazy. I thank God that amid the misfor- 
tunes He has visited upon me, I am still permitted to enjoy 
my reason unimpaired. No, child, I am not insane.” 

“ I am so glad to hear it ! ” exclaimed Bertha. 

But the glowing expression with which she received this 
assurance quickly gave place to a sad look again, as she 
considered that the invalid might not be aware of his own 
infirmity. 


Rich and Humble 


1 1 6 

“ You have some doubts,” added he, as he observed the 
change upon her face. “ It is sad for me to have to de- 
fend myself from such a charge. \ou know that John 
told you one falsehood.” 

“ Yes, sir; and I am satisfied,” replied Bertha; “ but it 
seems very strange to me.” 

“ If you would like the situation, I think I can convince 
you that I am not crazy.” 

“ I would like it very much, sir, if you would please to 
.give me the place.” 

“ Perhaps you will not suit me,” added Mr. Presby. 

“ I will try to do so, sir.” 

“ You are very young.” 

“ I shall be fourteen in a short time.” 

“ Younger than I thought you were ; it will be hard for 
■a girl like you to be shut up with an old man like me.” 

“ I shall not mind that, sir.” 

“ And there will be a great many annoyances and trials 
to endure.” 

“ I will try to be faithful and patient.” 

“ I suppose there have been a dozen applicants at the 
door for the place this forenoon, but you are the first that 
I have seen. They were all sent away, as you were. I 
should not have seen you if I had not happened to over- 
hear the conversation between you and John in the hall.” 

“ How very strange ! ” said Bertha, not able to compre- 
hend this singular state of things. 

u You will understand it soon enough. I like your ap- 
pearance, young as you are ; and as I may not see another 
applicant, I am the more desirous of engaging you, if you 
will answer my purpose. I presume you have been well 
educated, or you would not have applied for the place.” 

Bertha briefly stated the history of her education, which 
seemed to be satisfactory to Mr. Presby. He then ques- 
tioned her in regard to her family, and, without telling any 
more than was necessary, she informed him in regard to 
her past life. He was not inquisitive, and she passed the 


Rich and Humble 


II 7 

examination without informing him what her father’s first 
name was, or where he had resided. 

“ Now, Miss Grant, I should like to hear you read.” 

He then handed her Kirk White’s poems, and she read 
a couple of pages. 

“ You read very well indeed for one so young, and you 
appear to understand what you read. Now I will dictate 
a letter for you to write, and if your penmanship is plain 
and distinct, you will satisfy me in every respect.” 

Mr. Presby dictated to Bertha a letter of about a page 
in length. Her taste and skill in drawing had materially 
improved her writing, and she wrote a beautiful hand, 
much larger and plainer than fashionably educated young 
ladies usually write. 

“ That is admirable ! ” exclaimed Mr. Presby, as she 
handed him the sheet. “ It is as plain as print. I com- 
mend your hand to the bookkeepers downtown. I can 
read that writing.” 

“ I am very glad it suits you, sir,” said Bertha, de- 
lighted with the success of her examination. 

“ You have spelled all the words right, and the letter is 
neat and well arranged. I suppose you know something 
about arithmetic and geography ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; I am very willing to be examined.” 

“ No, I will not trouble you any further. If the place 
will suit you, it is yours.” 

“ Thank you, sir.” 

Bertha was sure it would suit her, if Mr. Presby was not 
insane ; and she was well satisfied now that he was not. 

“ You have not spoken of the salary, sir,” suggested 
Bertha, who had some doubts on this subject. 

“ You may suit yourself about that. Miss Grant,” re- 
plied Mr. Presby, with a smile. “ Money is the least of 
my cares in this world.” 

“ If you thought four dollars a week was not too much,” • 
said she, after some hesitation. 

“ I will give you five with pleasure,” added Mr. Presby. 


1 1 8 Rich and Humble 

“ It is of no consequence what I pay, if you answer my; 
purpose.” 

“ You are very kind and very generous, sir ; and I will 
do the best I can to please you.” 

“ That is all I require ; and you need not come in the 
morning till ten o’clock.” 

Ten o’clock! Then she had no home, after all, and she 
must find a place to board somewhere in the vicinity. The 
five dollars a week seemed to melt away all at once, for it 
would take three dollars a week to pay her board, and 
there was only two left to pay Fanny’s board, and nothing 
for clothes and other expenses. 

“ Where do you live? ” asked Mr. Presby. “ I suppose 
you will want to go home before it is very dark at night.” 

“ I have no home,” answered Bertha, sadly. 

“ No home! Poor child! Then your parents are dead? ” 

She did not dare to tell him that her father was in prison ; 
so she made no reply. 

“ But you shall have a home here,” continued Mr. Pres- 
by, rising and opening a door which led into a small cham- 
ber over the front hall. “ You shall have this room, and 
take your meals with me.” 

“ Thank you, sir ; I shall never be able to repay you for 
your kindness.” 

“ Poor child ! This is the happiest day I have known 
for a long time. I thank the Lord for sending you to me, 
for we shall be a blessing to each other.” 

Bertha could not help crying, the old gentleman was 
so kind. She was sure now that he could not be crazy ; and 
she wondered more than ever at the strange conduct of 
John, and the female voice she had heard in the hall. 

She looked into the chamber, and found it was nicely 
furnished, and had a very pleasant aspect. With the de- 
vout old gentleman she thanked God for conducting her 
to this new home. She felt Mr. Presby would not turn 
her out of the house, even if he should find out that her 
father was a prisoner in the Tombs. 


Rich and Humble 


n 9 

“ Poor child,” said Mr. Presby, which seemed to be 
growing into a favorite expression with him. “ You said 
yt>ur name was ” 

“ Bertha Grant, sir.” 

“ Bertha ; I shall call you Bertha, for you are only a 
child now, and I mean to be a father to you, if you are a 
good girl, as I am sure you will be. Poor child ! no home, 
and no friends.” 

The old man walked slowly up and down the room, as 
he uttered these words, and seemed to be thinking of some- 
thing. 

“ I "wish I had a better home than this for you, poor 
child,” said Mr. Presby, stopping in front of her chair. 

“ I could not ask a better home,” replied Bertha. 

“ Poor child ! It is hearts that make home, not fine 
rooms, rich carpets, and costly furniture,” added Mr. 
Presby, with a deep sigh, as he shook his head, and re- 
sumed his walk. “ Hearts, not rooms and furniture,” he 
murmured several times. 

“ I could ask no kinder heart than yours to warm my 
home,” said Bertha, pitying the old man, he was so sad. 

“ Poor child ! I love you already,” exclaimed Mr. Pres- 
by, as he paused by her side, bent over and kissed her on 
the forehead, while a great tear dropped from his sunken 
eye upon her brow. 

Bertha thought the old gentleman acted very strangely. 
There was a mystery connected with him which she could 
not penetrate. The conduct of John, and the female who 
had spoken, added to the mystery, rather than assisted in 
its solution. It was evident that they had prevented sev- 
eral applicants for the situation she had obtained from see- 
ing the invalid, and had attempted to prevent her from 
doing so. Why they should act in this manner was unac- 
countable to her ; but she had no desire to pry into matters 
which did not concern her. 

“ This shall be your home, my child,” said Mr. Presby, 
pausing again, and looking tenderly upon her. 


I 20 


Rich and Humble 


“ Thank you, sir. You fixed my wages before you 
knew that I had no other home. You will wish to change 
the sum now.” 

“ No, child, no ! ” answered Mr. Presby, impatiently. 
■“ Now, do not say anything more about money. It has 
been the bane of my life. I do not like the sound of the 
word. You shall have five dollars a week, or ten, or any 
other sum you desire, only let me have one true friend in 
the world, and I care not for all the gold in the universe.” 

“ Pardon me, sir,” said Bertha, deeply moved by the 
earnestness of the old gentleman; for, as he spoke, the 
tears coursed down his pale, wrinkled cheek, and his soul 
seemed to be filled with anguish. “ I would not have men- 
tioned the subject again, if it had not been a matter of 
great consequence to me. I have a sister in the country, 
and I only wish to earn money enough to support her.” 

“ I knew that one so young could not love money. It 
has been a curse to me. God has punished me by making 
me rich. I am worth at least half a million of dollars. I 
own houses and lands, stocks, bonds and mortgages, I have 
the notes of rich men in my safe, and I have over a hun- 
dred thousand dollars in the banks ; but I would give all 
I have in the world, every dollar, for a poor cottage in the 
country, if I could have with it the respect and affection 
of my — of my — of those whom Heaven sent to bless my 
declining years, and smooth my pathway to the grave.” 

The old man dropped into his chair, and wept as though 
his heart would break. Bertha tried to comfort him. 
She brushed back the long, white locks from his forehead, 
and kissed his wrinkled brow. Gentle-hearted as she was, 
she could not help weeping with him. 

“Poor child!” sobbed Mr. Presby. “You must not 
love me; if you do, others will hate you.” 

“ I wish I could do something to make you happy,” re- 
plied Bertha. 

“ No; they will hate you, if you do.” 

“ Who will hate me? ” 


I 2 I 


Rich and Humble 

The old man looked at her in silence for a moment. 

“ I dare not tell you,” said he. u I am a great sufferer. 
God has sorely afflicted me ; but I try to be patient and re- 
signed to my lot. It is hard, very hard.” 

Mr. Presby wiped his eyes, and, after a struggle, calmed 
his strong emotion. 

“ Come, Bertha, you shall read to me now,” he added. 

“ What shall I read? ” asked she. 

“ You shall select something yourself.” 

She took the Bible, and read the twenty-third Psalm, 
and then a portion of the Sermon on the Mount. . 

CHAPTER XVI 

THE STORY OF A FAMILY QUARREL 

Mr. Presby was comforted by the passages which Ber- 
tha read, and perhaps the sympathy she extended to the 
suffering invalid was hardly less soothing than the words 
of the Scripture. Though she had gathered some idea of 
the nature of her patron’s troubles from the conversation 
she had had with him, yet. she was still ignorant of his re- 
lations with the other occupants of the house. She com- 
prehended that his children were unkind and ungrateful to 
him, and this seemed so unnatural and terrible to her that 
she pitied the old gentleman from the depths of her soul. 

After she had finished reading the Bible, Mr. Presby 
remained silent and thoughtful for a long time. He seemed 
to be meditating upon the passages read, and she did not 
disturb him; but she could not help calling to mind the 
statement of- John that he was insane. His conduct was 
certainly very singular ; but if his children, those who 
should have loved him, who should have comforted him and 
humored his weakness — if they had turned against him, it 
would be quite enough to explain even more strange behav- 
ior than he had yet exhibited. 

He rose from his easy-chair, and paced the room, as he 
had done before; but he was calm, and appeared to be 


122 


Rich and Humble 


more resigned. He did not talk to himself, as he had done ; 
and whether he was insane or not, Bertha had ceased to be 
afraid of him, and even felt some confidence that she could 
manage him if he should have a paroxysm. 

“ Poor child ! ” said he, at last, as he paused in his walk. ! 
“ I am old and thoughtless ; you have no home, and I sup- 
pose you have no clothing. Come, we will go out and buy 
some for you.” 

“ I have plenty of clothing, sir. My trunk is at the 
railroad station,” replied Bertha. J 

“We will go out and get it, then. The carriage comes 
to take me out to ride about this time every day. You 
shall go with me, and we will get your trunk.” 

Mr. Presby took off his dressing gown, and, retiring to 
his chamber in the rear of the library, prepared himself 
for the ride. Bertha put on her hat and jacket again, and 
soon both were ready. Before they left, Mr. Presby gath- 
ered up some account books and papers that were on his 
desk, and placed them in a small iron safe in one corner of 
the room, which he locked, and put the key in his pocket. 

The carriage was at the door, and Mr. Presby led the 
way downstairs. John was in the entry ; but he was very 
obsequious this time, and bowed low as he opened the doors 
for them. 

“ Keep your eyes wide open, miss, or the old man will 
knock your brains out when he has the fit,” he whispered 
in Bertha’s car, as she passed him. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked she. 

“ Oh, Mr. Presby is stark, staring mad ! ” he replied, 
earnestly. “ He will take your life before you have been 
with him three days.” 

Bertha’s old fears assailed her again for a moment ; but 
she could not believe, if Mr. Presby was such a dangerous 
person, that his friends would permit him to ride about the 
city without any attendant. They could have sent him to 
an asylum, for his family seemed to have no tender regard 
for him which would restrain them from such a course. 


Rich and Humble 


123 

The carriage was driven to the station, and Bertha pro- 
cured her trunk. It was placed in the little room adjoin- 
ing the library, and then they were driven downtown. Mr. 
Presby visited several insurance offices, and other places 
of business, where he was treated with respect and consid- 
eration by all whom he met. Bertha entered several of the 
offices with him, and heard him talk about matters that 
were beyond her comprehension ; but, very clearly, no one 
seemed to be of John’s opinion, that Mr. Presby was 
“ stark, staring mad.” 

“ On their return, at three o’clock, dinner was served. 
The table was prepared by a colored girl, who waited upon 
them, and removed the things when the meal was ended. 

“ Sylvia, is Mr. Presby — Edward — at home? ” said the 
invalid to the girl, as she left the room with the dishes. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Has he dined ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Tell him I wish to see him at his earliest convenience.” 

“ I will, sir.” 

Bertha noticed that Mr. Presby’s lips quivered as he 
spoke to the servant; and, as soon as she had gone, he 
seated himself in his chair, and appeared to be much agi- 
tated. In half an hour, during which time the old gentle- 
man was silent and thoughtful, Edward Presby entered the 
room. He was a man of thirty-five, elegantly dressed, in 
whom an experienced observer would have detected what is 
called “ a man of the world ” — a man who lives for its 
pleasures alone, ignoring its cares and responsibilities. 

“ How do you do to-day, father? ” said Edward, as he 
entered the room, and cast a searching glance at Bertha. 

“ I am as well as usual,” replied the old man, coldly. 

“ You sent for me, father? ” 

“ I did. John must be discharged.” 

Mr. Presby spoke these words with firmness, but his lip 
quivered, and his frame was slightly convulsed. It had 
evidently cost him a great effort to utter them. 


124 Rich and Humble 

“ John — discharged? ” repeated Edward Presby. 

“ He must be discharged,” added the father. 

“ My wife would never consent to it. What has he done 
now? ” 

Mr. Presby explained the events of the morning; that 
John had refused to admit those who answered his adver- 
tisement; that he had told Bertha the “old man” was crazy. 

“ A mere pleasantry, father,” replied Edward. “ Prob- 
ably John didn’t know anything about the advertisement.” 

“ Perhaps not. Does he believe that I am insane? ” 

“ Of course not,” laughed the son. 

“ Will you discharge him? ” 

“ I couldn’t think of such a thing. John is the most 
useful person in the house.” 

“ Edward, I am in earnest. John must go, or I shall.” 

“ Come, father, you are out of humor. Have you lost 
any money to-day ? ” 

“ I have nothing more to say, Edward,” replied Mr. 
Presby, trembling with emotion. 

“ I am sure I haven’t,” added the son, as he withdrew. 

The invalid went to his desk and wrote a few lines, which 
he inclosed in an envelope. Having written the direction 
upon it, he handed it to Bertha, and requested her to go 
down to Wall Street, and deliver it to the person for whom 
it was intended. 

“ I would not ask you to do such work for me if I could 
trust anyone else,” said he, sadly. 

“ I will deliver the note,” replied she. 

“ In a few days we will change our residence, Bertha,” 
he added with a smile. “ I hope in our new home we may 
be happier than we can be here.” 

Bertha knew not what to say, and therefore she said 
nothing. The father and the son did not agree, and the 
house was divided against itself. It was a very painful 
state of things to see this difference between those who 
should cherish and sustain each other, and Bertha, who had 
almost idolized her father, could not understand it. She 


Rich and Humble 125 

put on her hat and jacket, and was leaving the room, when 
Mr. Presby called her back. 

“ If you stay with me, Bertha, you must understand all 
these things,” said he. “ It is a sad story to tell a young 
girl like you, but you must know it all. They will turn 
you against me, if you don’t.” 

“ No one shall turn me against you, sir. You have been 
very kind to me, and I am grateful for it.” 

“ They will make you believe that I am crazy.” 

“ I will not believe it, sir.” 

Mr. Presby seated himself again, and began to tell Ber- 
tha his troubles. He had two children, a son and a daugh- 
ter. Plis wife had died ten years before, and soon after a 
difficulty between the father and son had occurred. 

Edward had never devoted himself to business of any 
kind, but spent all his time in fashionable dissipation. He 
had married a gay and extravagant lady, and, after the 
death of his mother, he had been invited to “ keep house ” 
for his father. But the house was not large enough for 
the fashionable lady, and both she and Edward had impor- 
tuned him to move into a magnificent palace of a house. 
Mr. Presby was simple in his tastes, and refused to do so. 
His refusal to comply had caused the first quarrel. 

The daughter had joined with the son in the request to 
purchase the palace, and had taken sides with him in the 
quarrel. She desired to live in the style of a princess — to 
outdo all her neighbors and friends. The demands upon 
the purse of Mr. Presby became so extravagant that his 
fortune could not sustain such a pressure, and he had been 
compelled to limit the son to six thousand dollars a year, 
and the daughter to fifteen hundred. 

Mr. Presby had been firm in his purpose, and every 
month he had paid over to each the sum allotted. He 
positively refused to grant another dollar, though he was 
continually annoyed by applications for more, which were 
often accompanied by threats and abusive language. 

The quarrel had never been healed ; on the contrary, the 
estrangement became greater every year. The son and his 


1 26 


Rich and Humble 


wife had obtained complete possession of the house, except 
the floor which the old gentleman had reserved for his own 
use. They managed its affairs to suit themselves, without 
even consulting his wishes or his tastes, and he soon felt 
himself a stranger there. They seemed to look forward 
with pleasure to the hour which w r ould end his mortal pil- 
grimage, and place them in possession of his wealth. 

Mr. Presby wept as he told this sad story, and Bertha 
pitied him more than ever. She thought he had been very 
liberal w T ith his children, especially as the son refused to do 
any business, as his father wished. She could not see that 
he had been to blame, and she wondered at his patience. 

“ Now, Bertha, you understand it all,” said he ; “ and I 
see that you pity me.” 

“ I do, indeed.” 

“ But they are my children, and I love them still. Oh, 
how T it would gladden my heart to hear them speak gentle 
words to me ! They hate me ; they want my property, and 
would rejoice to have me die,” groaned he, covering his 
face with his hands. “ I would give all I have if they 
would love me.” 

“ Perhaps they will.” 

“ Their hearts are hardened against me. They want 
my money. And I would give it to them if it would make 
them love me. I would become a beggar for their sake. 
But they would spend all I have in a few years, and it 
would be folly to indulge them.” 

“ I think John is a very bad man,” said Bertha, recalling 
what he had said to her in the hall. 

“ He is not only a spy upon my actions, but he is em- 
ployed to thwart me in my wishes. I cannot endure him. 
I have been peaceable and patient ; but I cannot be so any 
longer. Now you may go with the note, Bertha.” 

“ Shall I leave it if the gentleman is not in? ” 

“ Yes ; he will get it if it is left at his office.” 

“ I will do so, sir.” 

“ Stop a moment, Bertha. Have you any money to pay 
your fare? ” 


Rich and Humble 


127 


“ Yes, sir ; a little. 

“ Here is five dollars ; you may wish to purchase some- 
thing. You need not hurry back, for I shall try to sleep 
an hour or t)vo, if I am not too much excited.” 

Bertha took the money, and thanked her employer for 
his kindness. As she descended the stairs, John was in his 
accustomed place; for no one seemed to pass in or out of 
the house without his knowledge. 

“ Where are you going, miss ? ” asked he, in conciliatory 
tones. 

“ I am going out,” she replied, without stopping. 

“ So I see ; but where are you going ? ” 

“ Downtown.” 

“ Where? ” 

“ Excuse me, John, but I am in a hurry to do my er- 
rand.” 

“ What is your errand, miss ? ” persisted he. 

“ I do not think it proper to tell my employer’s business 
to anyone, and you will excuse me if I do not answer you.” 

“ Oh, certainly ; it’s none of my business, of course, and 
I did not mean to pry into the affairs of Mr. Presby.” 

Bertha placed her hand upon the door; but the night 
lock was a peculiar one, and she didn’t understand it. She 
kept working upon it, and John did not offer to assist her. 

“ Have you seen Miss Ellen Presby? ” asked John. 

“ I have not,” replied Bertha, still trying to open the 
door. 

“ She wishes to see you. I will call her, if you please.” 

“ I will see her when I return,” said Bertha; but John 
had gone. 

Bertha had some ingenuity, and before the man came 
back, she succeeded in opening the door. As she did so, 
she discovered a couple of night keys hanging near the 
door, and in order to save John the trouble of answering 
her summons, she put one of them in her pocket. 

When she had seated herself in the car, she took out the 
note Mr. Presby had given her. She doubted not it had 


128 


Rich and Humble 


some reference to the matters which had transpired during 
the afternoon. She turned the envelope, and read with 
astonishment the name of the man, who, a few days before, 
had turned her out of Woodville. It was directed to 
** Samuel Grayle, Esq.” 

CHAPTER XVII 

SORELY PERSECUTED 

Bertha was alarmed to find the name of Mr. Grayle on 
the note. She hoped Mr. Presby had no business relations 
with such a man, and she was frightened at the thought of 
seeing him again. He had insulted her at Woodville, and 
he might do so in New York. But her errand must be 
done ; and she hoped he would not be in his office. 

Mr. Grayle was in his private room with several gentle- 
men w T hen she reached her destination. She gave the note 
to his clerk, and saw it delivered. It was a lucky escape, 
and she retreated from the place well satisfied with the 
result. As Mr. Presby had told her she need not hurry 
back, she decided to call upon Mr. Sherwood again. 

“ I’m very glad to see you again, Miss Grant,” said the 
clerk, as she entered the office ; I have good news for you.” 

“ Has my father got out of the Tombs ? ” asked Bertha, 
to whom this seemed to be the only good news that could 
come to her. 

“ No ; not quite so good as that,” replied the clerk, shak- 
ing his head. “ You saw the gentleman who was with me 
when you left the office this morning? ” 

“ I did.” 

“ Did you know him ? ” 

“ I did not, though his face seemed strangely familiar.” 

“ It was your uncle, from Valparaiso.” 

“ Uncle Obed? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose that is his name ; at any rate, he is your 
father’s only brother.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad ! ” exclaimed Bertha, “ for I know 
that he can save my father.” 


Rich and Humble i 29 

“ V our father shall be saved, any way ; but for the 
present your uncle cannot' do much. He is a stranger in 
New \ ork. His business in Valparaiso was entirely with 
English merchants.” 

“ Where is he now? ” 

“ He is stopping at the Astor House. If your father 
can be set at liberty, your uncle will take care of his pecun- 
iary matters as soon as his funds arrive from England.” 

“ I will Vail and see him.” \ 

“ I think he has gone to Philadelphia, to see a friend 
who will furnish him with money to pay off your father’s 
most pressing debts.” 

“ That is just like Uncle Obed,” said Bertha. 

“ He remained with me all the forenoon. He knows 
about Brace Brothers, and he says they have only sus- 
pended and will, eventually pay all they owe. If this is 
the case, Mr. Grant will yet come out all right. As the 
matter stands now, if your father could raise about fifty 
thousand dollars, it would keep him out of trouble till the 
affairs of Brace Brothers are settled up. This your uncle 
will endeavor to procure.” 

“ Will Mr. Grayle be paid then? ” asked Bertha. 

“ Mr. Grayle has already been paid. He has taken 
Woodville, though he says the estate will not pay him what 
he has advanced. I suppose it would not, if sold at auc- 
tion, and he does not like the bargain. As soon as he 
pressed your father, and threw him into prison, others be- 
came clamorous for their money. I hope your uncle will 
.be able to raise the sum needed.” 

“ I am sure he will.” 

“ He is very doubtful, for all his friends are in England, 
and all his property is there. He has retired from busi- 
ness, and means to settle in this vicinity, as soon as he can 
close up his affairs, and invest his wealth in this country. 
He was very anxious to see you.” 

“ I will see him at once, if I can.” 

On her way uptown, she called at the Astor House ; but 
Uncle Obed had gone to Philadelphia, as the clerk thought. 


Rich and Humble 


13° 

It was time for her to return to Mr. Presby’s. Her 
father and his affairs now engrossed all her attention, and 
she even forgot those of her invalid employer. It was cer- 
tainly good news that Uncle Obed had arrived. Her 
father had written to him several months before, and she 
had felt that, if he would come, all would be well. He 
could get Mr. Grant out of prison ; he could recover pos- 
session of Woodville; and he could advance money to pay 
her father’s debts, and thus save him from his creditors 
till the affairs of Brace Brothers were settled. 

But Uncle Obed seemed to be almost powerless, after 
all. He had come, but he was a stranger in the land, with 
no means and no credit. He had wealth enough, but it 
might as well have been at the bottom of the Red Sea, so 
far as any present use was concerned. 

Her father was still in prison. 

Woodville was still in possession of Mr. Grayle. 

Creditors representing fifty thousand dollars were still 
ready to harass her father. 

Here were three tremendous obstacles in the path cf her 
father. Bertha felt that she w r as but a child, and she could 
do nothing against such fearful odds ; but still her mission 
w T as to save her father. The coming of Uncle Obed would 
keep the family from want ; but all her father had seemed 
to be lost, and nothing but beggary or dependence to be 
before him. It was doubtful whether Uncle Obed could do 
anything before it was too late to save her father from 
ruin. What could she do herself? Alas! nothing. 

Still thinking of these things, she arrived at the door 
of M.r. Presby’s house. As she went up the stone steps, 
the thought came, that perhaps she might do something; 
but it was too absurd to be cherished, and she dismissed 
it at once. She was so absorbed with these reflections that 
she did not think of the night key in her pocket, and rang 
the bell. The summons was promptly answered bv John, 
who opened the door about a foot, and placed himself in 
the aperture. 

“ Who do you wish to see, miss ? ” asked he, politely. 


Rich and Humble 


££ I wish to see Mr. Presby — the old gentleman.” 

“ Do you? Well, he isn’t at home.” 

££ Not at home? ” 

££ He has just gone out of town, and won’t be back for 
three days.” 

“ If you will let me in, I will go to my room,” said 
Bertha, who did not believe John’s ridiculous story. 

“ Eh ? ” added the m&n, with a kind of leer, as though 
he did not understand her. 

“ 1 say I will go to my room, if you please.” 

££ Your room? Pray, miss, where is your room? ” 

££ It is the small chamber over the hall.” 

“ Really, miss, I don’t understand you. I don’t see how 
your room can be in this house.” 

“ Don’t you know me, John? ” asked Bertha, astonished 
at this singular reception. 

“ Don’t I know you? How should I know you?” re- 
plied he, with an innocent look. 

“ I am the young lady Mr. Presby engaged to-day.” 

“ Mr. Presby didn’t engage any young lady to-day.” 

“ Why, yes he did, John. You know me very well. 
Didn’t you talk with me when I went out, two hours ago, 
and ask me where I was going? ” 

££ I? ’Pon my word, I never saw you before in my life ! ” 
protested John, apparently amazed at this statement. 

It was greeted by a loud laugh from the entry behind 
him. It was the same voice she had heard before, and 
Bertha supposed it must be Miss Ellen. 

££ Then, if you will call Mr. Presby, he will assure you 
I am the person he engaged.” 

££ How can I £ell him when he is out of town ? ” 

££ He is not out of town, John.” 

££ Oh, now, that does not sound like a lady, to doubt my 
word ; but I will call Mr. Edward Presby.” 

££ I do not wish to see him.” 

££ Then I can’t do anything for you, miss.” 

££ I will go up to my room.” 


132 Rich and Humble 

“ We don’t let strangers into the house,” replied John, 
decidedly. 

“What do you mean, John? You know me well 
enough.” 

“ Never saw you before in my life ; and if you doubt my 
word, I shall never want to see you again.” 

“ Send her away, John,” said the female in the hall. 

“ Good evening, miss ; if you call next week, you may 
see Mr. Presby,” said John, with one of those wicked leers 
with which he accompanied his polite impudence, and closed 
the door in her face. 

Bertha, astounded by this incident, retired from the 
door, and moved down the street again. Such villainy 
and such trickery were beyond her comprehension. She 
had actually been denied admission to the house of her em- 
ployer. But she had spirit enough not to yield the point. 
She had walked down the street but a short distance be- 
fore she thought of the night key in her pocket, and then 
she determined to return, and to make her way to Mr. 
Presby’s library, whether John was willing or not, for it 
did not occur to her that he would carry his opposition so 
far as to prevent her by force from doing so. It was evi- 
dent that Mr. Presby’s son and daughter intended to pre- 
vent her from remaining with him. They feared her in- 
fluence — that she might comfort and encourage the invalid, 
and thus prolong his life ; or be an available witness in a 
contested will case; or that she might in some manner 
prevent them from controlling the old man’s thoughts or 
actions. “ You must not love me, or they will hate you,” 
had been the warning of the father. If they wished to pre- 
vent her from seeing Mr. Presby again, it would be hard 
for her to do so. 

Bertha felt that the old man was in the hands of his 
enemies, though they were his own children, and higher 
considerations than her own comfort and welfare prompted 
her not to yield to the conspiracy. She could not desert 
the old gentleman when he had been so kind to her. Obey- 
ing this generous impulse, she hastened up the steps, and 


Rich and Humble 


133 

inserted the night key as quickly as she could. The door 
was opened without difficulty, and, not stopping to close 
it, she hung up the night key on the nail from which she 
had taken it, and opened the inner door, intending to run 
upstairs before John should appear to dispute her passage. 

She was partially successful, and had ascended a few 
steps before the vigilant manservant showed himself. But 
John, whom Mrs. Presby regarded as a useful person in the 
house, was as active as he was keen. No sooner did he 
discover that he had, in some mysterious manner, been cir- 
cumvented, than he sprang up the stairs, and, catching 
hold of her dress, pulled her down to the door again. 

“ Who is it, John? ” called the voice of the female from 
an adjoining room. 

“ It is the girl that tried to get in a few moments ago.” 

“A thief — isn’t she, John?” said Mr. Edward Presby, 
who now appeared in the hall, followed by his wife and his 
sister. 

“ I suppose so, sir,” replied the ready John. “ She has 
been prowling about the house all day. I have sent her 
away twice.” 

“ But how did she get in? ” demanded Mr. Presby. 

“That’s more than I know; but this kind of folks al- 
ways find a way to open a door,” answered John, with a 
wicked grin. 

“ How did you get in? ” said Mr. Presby, sternly. 

“ Hush, Ned,” whispered Miss Ellen, pointing upstairs. 

“ No fear of him ; he is fast asleep in the back chamber,” 
muttered John. 

But Mr. Presby acted upon this caution, and, taking 
Bertha by the arm, led her into the dining room, in the 
rear, where the invalid could not hear what transpired. 

“ Now, how did you get in? ” repeated Mr. Presby, in 
the same stern tone he had used before, as though he were 
speaking to a common thief, whom he hated and despised. 

“ I came in with the night key,” replied Bertha, appalled 
at the turn which the affair had taken. 


Rich and Humble 


x 34 

“ Where did you get the night key ? ” 

“ I took it from the nail when I went out.” 

“ When you went out ! When was that ? ” 

“ I know what she means. She stole the key when she 
came to the door with the foolish inquiries,” observed Miss 
Ellen. 

“ Did you miss the keys, John? ” asked Mr. Presby. 

“ I did not, sir. I don’t believe she got in that way. I 
will go and see and he left the room. 

In a moment he returned, declaring the two night keys 
were hanging on the nail, where he had seen them half a 
dozen times during the day. 

“ She picked the lock, then,” added Mr. Presby. 

“ Well, I hope something will be done about it this time,” 
said Mrs. Presby. “ You caught a woman in the hall 
once before, and let her go because she was well dressed.” 

“ That was a mistake of mine ; and I will not make an- 
other of the same kind. John, you may go for an officer.” 

“ For mercy’s sake, Mr. Presby, don’t send me to 
prison ! ” said Bertha, terrified beyond expression. 

“ That is just what the woman said, in almost the same 
words,” added Mrs. Presby. 

“ Don’t you know me, sir? ” pleaded Bertha. “ I was 
in the library when you were there this afternoon.” 

“ No use,” replied Mr. Presby, shaking his head. 
“ That kind of stuff won’t go down.” 

“ The other thief said she wanted to see her sister, who 
was a servant in the house,” said Miss Ellen. 

“ It is a plain case, miss, and there is no use of wasting 
words in idle stories. I let one thief escape, and I will 
not permit another to slip through my fingers.” 

“ I am no thief, sir. I beg you to send up to your 
father, and he will assure you I am not a thief,” pleaded 
Bertha. 

“ My father is out of town.” 

Poor Bertha could say nothing to move her persecutors ; 
and, in despair, she relapsed into silence. In a few mo- 
ments John returned with a policeman. Mr. Presby and 


Rich and Humble 


*35 

his man told their story, and the officer thought it was a 
very plain case. 

“ Come, miss,” said he, taking her by the arm and lead- 
ing her out into the street. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

BERTHA PROVES HER INNOCENCE 

It was now quite dark, and in the friendly shades of 
night poor Bertha was spared the shame of being gazed 
upon by unthinking people in the street. The policeman 
took her by the hand, and conducted her to the station, 
where she was to remain till morning, when she would be 
taken before a magistrate to be examined on the charge of 
“ breaking and entering.” 

She was so terrified by the scene through which she had 
just passed, that she had not the courage to say anything 
to the officers in vindication of her innocence. They 
looked at her with curiosity, and some of them seemed to 
regard her as a different person from those who were usu- 
ally brought to the station. 

“ Bless my soul ! ” exclaimed a sergeant, when he came 
to look at her. “ I have certainly seen that face before.” 

“ Oh, Nathan ! ” groaned Bertha, as she recognized in 
the officer a man who had formerly been employed as coach- 
man at Woodville. 

“ Bertha Grant! ” ejaculated he, holding up both hands 
with astonishment. “ It can’t be possible ! ” 

“ I am innocent, Nathan,” sobbed Bertha. “ I have not 
done anything to bring me to this place.” 

“ Poor girl! I can’t do anything for you, I’m afraid.” 

“ You will not keep me in this terrible place? You will 
not let them carry me before the court? It would kill my 
poor father.” 

“ I would not, if I could help it, Bertha,” replied Na- 
than, sadly; “but we have to keep people who are ar- 
rested on such charges till they are proved to be innocent.” 

“ I am innocent ! I have not done anything wrong.” 


Rich and Humble 


136 

“ But I have no right to let you go- — at least, while you 
stand charged with breaking and entering. If I dared, I 
would let you go at once.” 

“ Let me tell you all about it, and then perhaps you will 
know what is best to be done.” 

“ I will do everything I can for you, Bertha. You were 
always kind to me, and I would do anything to get yo u 
out of trouble.” 

“ I don’t want you to do wrong, Nathan. I would not 
have you neglect your duty even to save me from prison.” 

Bertha then told the sergeant everything that had oc- 
curred at the house of Mr. Presby during the day, from 
the moment she rang the bell in the forenoon till she had 
been taken out of the house by the policeman. 

“Poor girl!” sighed the policeman, when she had fin- 
ished her simple narrative. “ I think we can get you out 
of trouble very soon. If Mr. Presby, the old gentleman, 
will only say that you were lawfully in the house, that you 
had a right to be there, we will not keep you a moment.” 

“ Mr. Presby would come to me at once, if he only knew 
I was here ; I know he would,” added Bertha. 

“ It is a plain case, and all we want is a word from him. 
Now I will go right down to his house, and tell him all 
about it.” 

“ I am afraid they will not let you see him.” 

“ I will see him. Don’t disturb yourself about that, 
Bertha. I shall certainly see him.” 

The sergeant then spoke to the principal officers of the 
station, and Bertha, instead of being put into a cell with 
the wretched thieves and drunkards who had already been 
brought in, was permitted to remain in the office. 

At nine o’clock, Nathan had not returned, and Bertha 
was sure that he had found some difficulty in seeing Mr. 
Presby ; but she was sure, too, that he would do all he could 
for her, and so she waited in hope and patience. Occasion- 
ally a thief or a vagabond was brought in, but Bertha did 
not even care to look at him. At ten o’clock, while she 


Rich and Humble 


I 37 

was wondering that the sergeant did not come, an officer 
led a boy into the room. 

“ What have you got there? ” demanded the captain. 

“ A little fellow that I picked up in the next street. He 
is so tipsy he can’t stand alone, and had stretched himself 
on the curbstone, where he was near having his legs broken 
b}^ a carriage.” 

“ Who is he? ” 

“ Don’t know, sir. He is well dressed. I asked him 
where his home was, and he said he hadn’t anj\” 

“ No, sir,’,’ said the boy, rousing from his stupor, “ I 
haven’t any home; but I belong to the yacht Whirlwind.” 

“ Merciful heavens ! ” cried Bertha, rushing to the side 
of the intoxicated youth. 

“ Do you know him, miss? ” asked the captain. 

“ Yes, sir, I do,” stammered Bertha. 

“Who is he?” 

“ He is my brother.” 

“What! Is that you, Berty? ” stammered Richard 
Grant. “ Well, I am glad to see you, Berty. What are 
you doing here? ” 

“ Oh, Richard ! ” was all that the poor girl could utter, 
as she threw herself into a chair, and wept bitterly. 

“ Put him to bed,” said the captain, in a low tone. 

The officers took the drunken boy out of his chair, and 
laid him in one of the bunks of an adjoining cell. The 
captain gave Bertha permission to stay with him, but he 
was unable to talk much, and soon dropped asleep. She 
covered him up, and seated herself by his side. When she 
heard the outer door open again, she hastened out to see if 
Nathan had come. 

“Where is she? Poor child!” said Mr. Presby, as he 
entered the room. 

* Bertha hastened to him, her eyes still filled with the tears 
called forth by the new grief that had come upon her. 

“ Oh, I am so glad to see you, Mr. Presby ! ” exclaimed 
she, as she grasped the old gentleman’s extended hands. 


Rich and Humble 


138 

“ Poor child ! Poor child ! I told you they would hate 
you if you loved me. They sent you to a prison-^did 
they? Oh, God! They are my children.” 

“ It’s all right, Miss Bertha,” said Nathan, who had al- 
ready told the captain that the girl had spoken the truth. 

“ May Heaven bless you, Nathan ! ” said Bertha, taking 
him by the hand. “ You have saved me from a world of 
anguish, and I shall be grateful to you as long as I live.” 

“ Never mind that, Bertha. You were always good to 
me, and I am too glad of a chance to serve you.” 

“ Poor child ! ” added Mr. Presby. “ Are you satisfied 
now, captain ? ” 

“ Entirely ; the girl can go as soon as she pleases,” re- 
plied the captain. 

“ Come, Bertha, let us get away from this place ; but we 
will remember your friend the sergeant. I have a carriage 
at the door. I will not let you go out of my sight again 
while we remain in the city. Come, Bertha.” 

“ I can’t go now,” she replied, glancing at the cell in 
which Richard was sleeping . off the fumes of the liquor 
he had drunk. 

The captain now kindly came forward, and explained 
what had taken place during the absence of the sergeant. 
Mr. Presby was full of sympathy for the poor girl, and at 
once proposed to take Richard away with them; but Na- 
than promised to take care of him till morning, and detain 
him till Bertha could see him again. 

“ Now, Bertha, we will be happy,” said Mr. Presby, 
whyn they were seated in the carriage. u I have just pur- 
chased a fine house in the country, and we will go there 
to-morrow. You shall not be persecuted any more.” 

“ I do not care for myself,” added Bertha. 

“ Your brother shall go with you. The poor boy had 
no home, and I suppose he was lonely. We will take care 
cf him, and he will never do such a thing again.” 

“ I hope not.” 

<{ The house I have bought is a beautiful one. I have 


Rich and Humble 


139 

purchased all the furniture, horses, boats, and everything, 
just as its late owner left it. I am sure we shall be very 
happy there.” 

“ I hope you will be happy.” 

“I shall be; perhaps if I leave them, it will do them 
good. They do not believe that I will go, for I have 
threatened to do so a great many times. But the place is 
bought this time, and I have given my check for it. Did 
you think I never would come to you? ” 

“ I thought J ohn would not let the officer see you.” 

“ I was not at home when he came. I was at Mr. Grayle’s 
office, where the sale was completed, and the deed given.” 

“ Mr. Gra}de ! ” exclaimed Bertha, a new light appear- 
ing to her. 

“ Yes, Mr. Grayle ; I bought the place of him. The 
estate is known by the name of Woodville. Quite a pretty 
name — isn’t it? ” 

“ Woodville ! ” repeated Bertha. “ And you have bought 
it?” 

“ Yes ; you appear to know the place.” 

“ It was my home till a few days ago,” answered Bertha, 
sadly. 

“ Your home ! Good Heaven ! Then you are the daugh- 
ter of poor Franklin Grant.” 

“ I am, sir.” 

“ Poor child ! I was slightly acquainted with your 
father; but he had a quarrel with Mr. Grayle, which con- 
cerned me, and I haven’t seen him for several years.” 

“ Is Mr. Grayle your friend? ” asked she. 

“ Not exactly my friend. I have had some business re- 
lations with him ; but I have nothing against your father.” 

Bertha, in her own simple style, then told him what Mr. 
Grayle had done to her father, and that he had turned his 
children out of Woodville. Mr. Presby was indignant, and 
declared that he would never trust him again. 

When the carriage reached the house, they were admitted 
by John, who was as polite as a French dancing master. 
They had no sooner entered the library than Edward Pres- 


Rich and Humble 


X40 

by presented himself. He declared that the arrest of 
Bertha was a mistake. He did not know her, and none of 
the family had ever seen her. 

“ Edward,” said the father, sternly, “it is useless for you 
to say anything. We part to-morrow ; let it be in peace.” 

“ Part, father? ” exclaimed Edward. 

Mr. Presby briefly informed his son what he had done, 
and stated his plans for the future. 

“ Surely you will not leave us, father,” said Edward, who 
probably began to realize that he had gone too far. 

“ I shall go to-morrow.” 

The son tried to explain, and said all he could to alter 
his purpose ; but Mr. Presby remained firm to the last, and 
he finally retired in anger, and with threats on his lips. 

Bertha went to her chamber, but she could not sleep, she 
was so excited by the events of the evening. On the mor- 
row she was to return to Woodville, though not with the 
family ; and she was sad at the thought of going without 
her father. 

Uncle Obed would return from Philadelphia the next day, 
and she hoped he would bring some comfort for her; for 
with Richard intoxicated in the station house, and her 
father still in the Tombs, her mission seemed further than 
ever from its accomplishment. 

CHAPTER XIX 

TJNCIE OBED 

Mr. Presby called Bertha at an early hour on the fol- 
lowing morning, for the carriage had been engaged for her 
at seven o’clock. She had slept but little during the night, 
for the terrible condition of her brother haunted her 
thoughts when awake, and her dreams when she slept. She 
was driven to the station house, where Richard had slept 
off the fumes of the intoxicating cup. 

He was glad to see her, but he was very much depressed 
in spirits, and heartily ashamed of his conduct. He was 
more reasonable and penitent than she had ever seen him 


Rich and Humble 


141 

before. He told her that the yacht had come from New- 
port the day before, and that he had been discharged, be- 
cause they no longer wanted him. He had taken a room 
at a hotel, but he had only two dollars left of the money he 
had brought from Woodville, increased by a few dollars he 
had earned. He acknowledged that he had been intoxicated 
twice while at Newport, and when he came to New York he 
felt sad at the thought of having no home; and he had 
drunk some wine to cheer him up, and make him forget that 
his father was in prison, and the family scattered. 

“ Bertha, I never will taste any wine or liquor again as 
long as I live,” said he, with solemn earnestness, when he 
had finished his narrative. 

“ I hope you never will, Richard. My heart is nearly 
broken now,” added Bertha, wiping away her tears ; “ but 
if you will be good and true, I shall be happy again. Oh, 
you don’t know how much I have thought of you ! ” 

“ Come, Berty, don’t cry. I have been selfish, but I will 
stand by you to the last. 1 will do anything you wish.” 

Bertha was very much comforted by Richard’s promises 
of amendment, for she felt that he meant them, and she 
prayed that he might have the firmness to keep them. She 
then told him what had happened during their separation ; 
of the sale of Woodville, and the return of Uncle Obed, and 
that she was going to their old home with Mr. Presby. 

This conversation took place in the carriage, and on the 
sidewalk in front of Mr. Presby’s house. For some time, 
Richard could not be persuaded to visit his sister’s em- 
ployer; but he at last consented. The old gentleman did 
not allude to the events of the preceding evening, but talked 
about his plans in connection with Woodville. He insisted 
that Richard should go with them, and occupy his old 
room; indeed, he said he wanted him very much to assist 
him in finding the housekeeper, the boatman, and the serv- 
ants, for he intended to restore everything to the condition 
in which Mr. Grant had left it. 

Richard gladly consented to remain and assist him in 
moving his books, papers, and other articles, which were to 


Rich and Humble 


142 

be conveyed to Woodville. His wonted spirits seemed to 
return when his mind was occupied, and before breakfast 
was over Mr. Presby and Richard were excellent friends. 

The forenoon was occupied in packing up the books and 
papers, which were sent off early in the afternoon, under 
the care of Richard, who had instructions to find the old 
servants and send them back to their accustomed places. 

At one o’clock, when the Philadelphia train had arrived, 
Bertha repaired to the Astor House, to ascertain if Uncle 
Obed had returned, leaving Mr. Presby with his son and 
daughter. The latter were astonished and alarmed at the 
firmness of their father, and the events of years were re- 
hearsed and commented upon. They promised to let him 
have his own way in all things if he would remain, and were 
even willing to discharge John. They asked him what the 
world would say ; but he was silent. They proposed to go 
with him to Woodville; but he declined. He had gone too 
far to recede. Mr. Presby told them what he had suffered, 
but he spoke kindly, and hoped they would visit him in his 
new home. 

Bertha was rejoiced to find that Uncle Obed w r as in the 
house, and she w as shown to his room. She had never seen 
him before they met in the office of her father, but the pic- 
ture of him that hung in the drawing room at Woodville 
was so true that his countenance seemed familiar to her. 

“ My dear uncle ! ” exclaimed she, as she rushed fonvard 
to grasp his extended hand. 

“ Then this is Bertha,” replied Uncle Obed, kissing her. 

“ I am so glad to see you ! ” 

“ And I am as glad to see you ; for when I heard what 
had happened, I was very much alarmed about you.” 

Of course the conversation immediately turned to the sit- 
uation of her father. Bertha told him what had occurred 
from the time of her father’s arrest. Uncle Obed was sad 
and thoughtful. He was perplexed and disappointed. He 
felt a strong desire to do something which he could not ac- 
complish. 

“ Mr. Shenvood told me you had gone to Philadelphia to 


Rich and Humble 143 

obtain the money which would save my poor father from 
ruin,” said Bertha. 

“ I did go, but my friend was not at home, and will not 
return for a week. Bertha, I am sorely tried; I don’t see 
that I can do anything for your father at present. I can- 
not raise the money.” 

“ I hoped you would be able to save my poor father.” 

“ I have done everything I could ; but I am a stranger 
here now. Fifty thousand dollars is an immense sum of 
money.” 

“ Perhaps I can raise it, Uncle Obed,” said Bertha, 
musing. 

“ You, child? Of course you cannot.” 

“ I can try.” 

Uncle Obed laughed at the assurance of Bertha, and did 
not bestow a second thought upon the absurd proposition. 

“ I must go to Woodville with Mr. Presby this after- 
noon,” said she, “ and I must leave you now, uncle.” 

“ I am sorry Woodville was sold, for I meant to buy it 
myself when my funds arrive. I intended to have seen Mr. 
Grayle yesterday. I suppose it is of no use to regret it, 
though. When shall I see you again, Bertha? ” 

“ I shall probably come to the city to-morrow with Mr. 
Presby.” 

Bertha hastened back to the house of Mr. Presby, where 
he was to wait her return. 

“ Did you see your uncle? ” asked he. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ You told me he would release your father.” 

“ Yes, sir; but he cannot,” replied Bertha, bursting into 
tears. 

“ Poor child ! Why not? ” 

“ Mr. Grayle put my father in prison, and keeps him 
there.” 

“ I will see Grayle before I go to Woodville,” said the 
old gentleman, jumping out of his chair. 

“ But that would not be enough,” added Bertha. 

“ What more, child? ” 


Rich and Humble 


144 

“ My uncle has been trying to raise a large sum of 
money to satisfy the creditors who persecute my father.” 

“ How much money ? ” 

“ Fifty \housand dollars,” replied Bertha, drawing a 
very long breath. 

“ Fifty thousand ! ” exclaimed Mr. Presby. 

“ My uncle will be responsible for it ; he is a rich man, 
but all his wealth is in England.” 

“ You shall have the money, my child,” said Mr. Presby, 
after a few moments’ consideration. 

“ May Heaven bless you as you have blessed me ! ” ex- 
claimed Bertha, clasping his hands and kissing his forehead. 

“ I will go down now and see Grayle ; then I will meet 
you at the Astor House. It will be late when we get to 
Woodville to-night, but your father shall go with us, Ber- 
tha,” said the old gentleman, as he put on his hat and took 
his cane. “ Come, child ; we will lose no time.” 

“ Oh, sir, I am so happy ! ” 

“ I didn’t understand before that Grayle caused your 
father to be imprisoned. If I had, I would have seen him 
before.” 

Bertha hastened back to the Astor House, while Mr. 
Presby took a carriage and drove to the office of Grayle. 

“ Oh, Uncle Obed ! ” cried Bertha, as she rushed into his 
room, out of breath with the exertion of running upstairs. 

“ What now, Bertha ? ” 

“ I have got the money ! ” 

What ! Impossible ! ” 

“ I have ; Mr. Presby will let you have it, and father will 
be set at liberty to-night ! ” 

Uncle Obed was incredulous, and seemed to be of John’s 
opinion, that Mr. Presby was crazy. He absolutely refused 
to believe the good news, and the nonappearance of Mr. 
Presby seemed to justify his want of faith. It was three 
hours before the old gentleman came, and Bertha began to 
fear that her enthusiasm had deceived her. But he came at 
last, and the two gentlemen were introduced to each other. 


Rich and Humble 


H5 

Mr. Presby opened the business of the meeting by say- 
ing what a good girl Bertha was; that, though he had 
known her only two days, he loved her as his own child. 
He then inquired particularly into Uncle Obed’s business af- 
fairs, and having satisfied himself in regard to his financial 
soundness, he produced checks for fifty thousand dollars. 

“ Business men would call me a fool or a lunatic, after 
what I have done ; but if I knew I should lose every dollar 
I have advanced, I should do just as I have done,” said Mr. 
Presby, placing Uncle Obed’s notes in his pocket-book. 

“ You shall not lose a penny of it, Mr. Presby,” said 
Uncle Obed. “ I can pay these notes three times over.” 

“ I don’t doubt it, Mr. Grant. Now, if the business is 
finished, we will call in somebody else,” added Mr. Presby, 
as he rang the bell. 

He whispered something very mysteriously to the bell 
boy who answered the summons and then continued the con- 
versation with Uncle Obed. 

“ I have purchased your brother’s estate — Woodville ; 
but whenever he wants it again, he shall have it,” said. he. 
“ I must be in sight of Bertha ; and I suppose I can buy a 
piece of land and build a cottage upon it.” 

* 6 Nay, sir, you shall always have a home at Woodville. 
I can promise that for my brother,” replied Uncle Obed. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said Bertha. “ I should be so happy to have 
you at our house ! ” 

“ Brace Brothers will certainly pay all they owe. I fully 
understand the cause of their suspension. When your father 
gets out of this difficulty, he will be as well off as ever he 
was,” added Uncle Obed. 

At this moment the door was thrown open by the waiter. 
A joyful cry from Bertha revealed the nature of Mr. Pres- 
by’s mysterious proceedings with the bell boy. 

“ My father ! My father ! ” exclaimed Bertha, as she 
rushed into his arms, and kissed him over and over again. 

“ My dear child ! ” said Mr. Grant, as he pressed the 
overjoyed daughter to his heart, while the great tears rolled 
down his thin, pale cheek. 


Rich and Humble 


146 

Bertha felt that her mission was accomplished — at least 
her present and most urgent one. Tenderly caressing her 
father, she told him how kind Mr. Presby had been to her. 

“ This is all Bertha’s work, Franklin,” said Uncle Obed. 
“ She raised the money, and procured your release.” 

“ No, father ; it was Mr. Presby.” 

“ For your sake I did it, my child,” added Mr. Presby. 
“ But come; we are all going to Woodville to-night.” 

The next train bore the whole party from the city. On 
the way all the incidents connected with the release of Mr. 
Grant were rehearsed. At first Grayle would not consent 
to it ; but Mr. Presby had compelled him to do so by threats 
which he had the power to carry out, for the wretch owed 
him large sums of money. Mr. Presby had become his bail 
till the action could be disposed of ; but Grayle admitted 
that the charge of fraud couldn’t be proved. He declared 
that the affair would ruin him when Mr. Grant was released. 

It was dark when the party arrived at Woodville; but 
the house was lighted up, and they were greeted by the 
housekeeper and the old boatman, whom Richard had sum- 
moned back to the mansion. Noddy Newman turned half 
a dozen back somersets on the lawn when he saw Bertha 
running up the walk. Several of the servants were in their 
places, and dinner was on the table, just as though no break 
had occurred in the household arrangements. Ben was sent 
after Fanny, and that evening the family were reunited in 
the sitting room. 

CHAPTER XX 

BERTHA VISITS THE GLEN AGAIN 

The next day Mr. Grant and Uncle Obed went to the 
city to arrange the business of the former, leaving Mr. 
Presby at home with the children. Bertha spent the whole 
forenoon in showing the old gentleman about the estate, and 
leading him to all the pleasant places in the vicinity. 

After luncheon, Richard took them over to Whitestone in 
the Greyhound, and on their return they visited Van Al- 


Rich and Humble 


J 4 7 

stine’s Island and the Glen. Even Dunk’s Hollow had 
heard the glad tidings of the return of the family to Wood- 
ville, and the children of the little mission school had gone 
to the Glen in the forenoon, and again in the afternoon, in 
the hope that Bertha might meet them there. 

As the party landed, they were received with shouts of 
rejoicing. Gretchy von Brunt danced with joy, and Groutyv 
von Grunt leaped up in the air as though the ground had 
been too hot to stand upon, while the other members of the 
school manifested their satisfaction in a manner not less 
equivocal, though rather more dignified. Bertha kissed all 
the children, boys and girls; for they all had clean faces, 
and wore the new clothes which their teacher had provided. 

The whole troop ran before Bertha as she conducted Mr. 
Presby up to the Glen, and seated themselves in their ac- 
customed places in the arbor. The visitors spent a very 
pleasant hour with them, and left, with the promise to come 
again on the following day. 

“ Now, Bertha 1 , you must go on with your school, just as 
you did before,” said Mr. Presby. “ If the children want 
clothes or books, or anything costing money, you must let 
me know. And you must let me help you teach the school.” 

“ Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you to feel an in- 
terest in these poor children,” replied Bertha. 

“ It will make me happy, as it does you. Of course your 
school can last only four or five months ? ” 

“ No, sir ; it is too cold after October to meet at the 
Glen.” 

“ Well, Bertha, we must build a nice little schoolhouse, 
so that we can meet the children in the winter.” 

As the boat bore them down to the Woodville landing, 
Mr. Presby and Bertha formed many plans for improving 
the condition of the poor, children of Dunk’s Hollow ; but 
the limit of our story does not permit us to follow them in 
the execution of those notable schemes. The little school- 
house was built; other children were induced to join the 
number ; all the scholars were supplied with warm clothing 


Rich and Humble 


148 

for the winter ; and as the pupils could all read very well, a 
library was provided for their use. From the children, the 
mission of Bertha and her wealthy colaborer extended to the 
parents, and Dunk’s Hollow itself began to wear a new 
aspect. Mr. Presby talked with the men, and many of them 
changed their modes of life and became decent, not to say 
respectable, persons. 

Such was the result of Bertha’s mission to the poor chil- 
dren of Dunk’s Hollow. 

Mr. Grant made satisfactory arrangements w’ith his 
creditors. Brace Brothers, as Uncle Obed and others had 
anticipated, paid their debts in full ; and the money which 
Mr. Presby had advanced was not only refunded, but Wood- 
ville was bought back again, and Mr. Grant was congratu- 
lated by all his friends and neighbors upon the happy ter- 
mination of his troubles. 

The only person who seemed to be a permanent sufferer 
by the transactions we have described was Mr. Grayle. 
His conduct in causing the arrest of the broker was gener- 
ally condemned, for he was actuated by revenge and a de- 
sire to make money out of the misfortunes of others. As 
Mr. Sherwood had predicted, his course proved to be his 
ruin; for when the whole truth came out at a meeting of 
Mr. Grant’s creditors, a storm of indignation was raised 
against him. Losing the respect and confidence. of business 
men, he failed, and sought a new home in the West to re- 
trieve his fallen fortunes. 

When Woodville again came into the possession of Mr. 
Grant, and his credit was completely restored, a great din- 
ner party was given in honor of the event. Among those 
invited were Mr. and Mrs. Byron, as well as Mr. Gray, and 
others who had attended on the memorable occasion when 
Master Charley had made a sensation. Strange as it may 
seem, Mrs. Byron came; and when she saw the gentle girl, 
whom she had insulted and turned out of her house, honored 
and respected by the most distinguished people in the vi- 
cinity, she blushed with shame. 

Master Charley Byron, who always had his own way, in- 


Rich and Humble 


149 

sisted upon paying a visit to his former governess on this 
occasion ; and, of course, he came. Bertha sang “ Three 
Blind Mice ” to him, and Noddy Newman turned a hundred 
back somersets on the lawn for his special benefit; but 
Charley was too wise to attempt the feat himself. The heir 
of Blue Hill could spell “ cat ” and “ dog,” but he had made 
no further progress in knowledge ; and it is not at all prob- 
able that he will ever be President of the United States. 

At other times, there came to Woodville Mrs. Lamb, 
Peter, the head groom of Blue Hill, and his wife ; Nathan, 
the sergeant of police; Bob Bleeker, and others who had 
befriended Bertha in her want and peril. They were kindly 
received, and encouraged to continue in the faith that those 
who assist the needy shall not lose their reward. 

Mr. Sherwood was a frequent visitor at Woodville, and 
his fidelity to his employer was so highly appreciated, that 
he soon became the partner of the broker ; and a few years 
later, when Mr. Grant retired, he succeeded to the entire 
business. 

Noddy Newman was as full of “ antics ” as he had ever 
been ; and when Ben, the boatman, returned to his old posi- 
tion at Woodville, the little savage came with him. But he 
was under the influence of Bertha, who still persevered in 
her efforts to make a civilized man of him. 

Mr. Presby proposed to build a cottage for himself near 
the mansion house, but neither Bertha nor her father would 
permit him to leave the family. An addition was made to 
the house, which afforded him a suit of rooms, and every 
day Bertha wrote his letters and read to him. The old gen- 
tleman increased the allowances of his son and daughter. 
They occasionally made him a visit at his new home, and 
though they still hungered for his money, they could not 
now do otherwise than treat him with respect, and even with 
a show of affection. 

Removed from his troubles, and surrounded by genial 
and loving friends, Mr. Presby ceased to be an invalid, and 
lived ten years after his removal to Woodville. When he 
died, Bertha Grant was made rich; several charitable in- 


Rich and Humble 


I 5° 

stitutions received large donations ; but the ungrateful son 
and daughter did not obtain the rest ; for it was left in 
charge of trustees, who were instructed to pay them only 
the income of it during their lives, the principal to be 
equally divided among their children when they reached 
their majority. 

Richard Grant, I am sorry to say, we must leave as we 
began with him. Even the bitter experience at Newport 
and New York was not enough to reform his life and char- 
acter. He is almost the only trial of Bertha and her father, 
though they hope and pray that he will yet become a good 
and true man. 

Miss Fanny’s pride, after its sudden fall, was more mod- 
erate and reasonable, though there was still much to hope 
for, and, better yet, much to expect from the improvement 
already made. We are happy to inform her sympathizing 
young friends, that, when her next birthday was celebrated, 
all who were invited attended her party. 

Ben, the boatman, almost worships “ Miss Bertha.” As 
he grows older, and his rheumatism becomes more trouble- 
some, he finds in her a constant friend, who chooses never to 
forget his devotion to her in the dark hour of trial and sor- 
row. He is still a strict disciplinarian, and, though he 
makes Noddy “ stand round,” he likes the boy, and feels a 
deep interest in his future welfare. 

Bertha’s mission is still unfinished; for as fast as one 
good work is accomplished, another presents itself. The 
willing heart and ready hand can never want a field of labor. 
“ Whatsoever our hands find to do, let us do it with all our 
might,” and then we shall realize the happiness which 
crowned the mission of Bertha Grant. 


THE END 


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